


you don't weigh me down like you think you do

by ghoultown



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Watcher Entertainment
Genre: 5+1 Things, AU: Business As Usual, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Loves Em-Dashes, Awkward Dates, Breaking Up & Making Up, Brief Contempt, Canon Conversation, Dating Cliches, Fluff and Humor, Immature Fighting, Light Angst, Lovers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Ryan Bergara, One Shot, Pining, Podcast Episodes, Pretend Quarantine Isn't Happening Right Now, Ryan Bergara Loves Shane Madej, Ryan Likes Planning Things, Shane Hates Planning Things, Shane Madej Loves Ryan Bergara, Universe Alterations, With New Context, kind of, lots of good dating cliches in here, not really - Freeform, probably missing a lot of tags, ryan plans dates for he and shane to go on, that's a good tag, they're so awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24817381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t faulting for the actual act of breaking up, no matter – ““No,” Shane rubs his eye. Oh, Jesus.“ – ‘cause, like, people can break up with someone if they want to,” Ryan says, his talking speed increasing as if he worries Shane will cut him off. Shane doesn’t, fumbling with his mic.Last month, Ryan and Shane broke up in the parking lot of their shared office. It was messy and out of the blue and left many questions unanswered – questions then brought up during a recording of the podcast.This time, Ryan’s crunched the numbers. Together forever, the second time around. And he’s got the binder to prove it, whether Shane likes it or not.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 37
Kudos: 184





	you don't weigh me down like you think you do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberrymilano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrymilano/gifts).



> There are a couple of podcast references, here. Like, I wrote verbatim some very particular sections of two episodes and gave them some uhhh new context. I’ll give you the timestamps below if you haven’t already listened – it isn’t mandatory, obviously. Just if you wanna have a bit of worldbuilding, I don’t know! I love you!!!
> 
> The beginning bit is from podcast episode “My Ex’s Netflix Account,” the timestamp is 20:00 (very nice). 
> 
> The next section, subheading “Five and a Half,” is from the episode titled “Knowing When To Say I Love You,” at 34:12. 
> 
> Gifted this to the wonderful strawberrymilano, who has been a wonderful pal to me, a fantastic artist and writer, and gratefully helped me figure out the description for this concept because I had no idea where to start!

* * *

The Beginning

_[Hi, boys! I have never written into something like this before, but if anyone can help me, it is you three. My question is this: should I continue to use my ex's Netflix? In short, my ex hasn't signed me out of our joint Netflix account he was in charge of paying and I need to know the morality of continuing to use it - heavily using it, now that I'm in quarantine. A little context, me and my partner Hector were together for six years and split everything monetarily. One of the things he was in charge of paying for was our Netflix account. It was entirely in his name. He broke up with me about a year ago completely out of the blue in the car park outside a rare and much anticipated family reunion. It was pretty sucky. I have not made my way around to thinking of him kindly again. We completely disentangled our finances etc. in every way since then, and yet - I still have access to our Netflix account and my profile is right there next to his when I sign in. He has to know I still use it. Do I sign myself out? My friends say that it is the least he can do and to just enjoy it, especially in these weird quarantine-y times. But what does it mean? Why Netflix of all our accounts? Does it mean anything? Would I be taking advantage in some way? Am I silly for being too proud and being hesitant to use it? Please advise. I kinda really wanna watch the Tiger King. Lots of love to you. - Parker Pomeroy]_

There's a moment of humming between everyone, acknowledging the questions posed and trying to formulate some sort of response in their heads. Steven commends his question choice.

"Interesting..." Ryan says, sort of scanning around the table.

"So - what was her name again?" Steven asks. Shane finds that interesting - he has assumed Parker was a guy. Maybe he had an ulterior motive in choosing this question. Maybe.

Before Shane can answer, Ryan is saying something else. "And I got to - I got to sneak in a juicy _Troy_ reference there too."

"Parker Pomeroy - _Troy_? The movie?" Shane squints at Ryan from across the table. They had to switch the seating around for "comfort reasons" a few months ago. That's what they told everyone, anyway.

"That's right," Ryan says. He doesn't seem to understand why Shane isn’t commending him on his _Hector!_ exclamation, so he tries it again, “ _Hectorrrr_!”

“Oh, I never saw it.” Shane looks back to his phone.

He can’t bring himself to give Ryan the reaction he wants. For some reason today he’s just exhausted with this whole normality thing. He wants to get to the question, he wants Ryan’s answer. Because this is _very familiar._

A moment passes and Shane realizes how blatantly bland his response was so he tries again, looking at Ryan, “Pitt, huh? Pitt?”

Ryan laughs at that, not really understanding. Steven says, “Uh.” It’s a not great moment. It’s fumbling, messy, odd. Like they’re having to start over from square one regarding conversation.

Ryan overlooks it, probably focusing on Shane’s dismission of his movie reference. They were _going_ to watch Troy together but Shane suddenly had something to do that night. Whatever.

Ryan clears his throat, “Uh, yeah. Well, this is your, uh, this is your – your, your question. So you gotta lead off the advice here – “

Shane will not let this moment pass, adjusting his mic. “No, I was just – Brad Pitt’s in that one, right?” He puts a lot of mustard on the P of Pitt.

Blank stares across the table for a good couple of seconds before Ryan realizes. “Oh – yes, yes. Brad Pitt is, uh, Achilles.”

“Love to hear it. Uh.” Shane smiles but it doesn’t fit quite right.

“And he is _jacked_ in that film. Body is pristine.”

Shane is squeezing his phone pretty tight. “… Good!”

“Glistening, even.”

Steven is staring between the two of them as they get into some sort of weird rhythm – the rhythm of stalling, of trying to move past the tension they’ve created (though, in doing so, make it _oh so much worse_ ).

“… I mean, that’s gotta be a top three Pitt bod film, right there.” Ryan’s not going to move past this. Damn it. “It’s probably that…”

“ _Fight Club_ ,” they say in unison, because Shane knows his ranking. Steven looks like he wants to leave.

“And _Once Upon a Time in Hollywood…_ ” Ryan takes a pause, looking off into space, before talking more about Brad Pitt’s abs.

Shane squints at him again, almost astonished by the _gall_ he has. What happened to four months ago when he was all _you don’t have to look like Brad Pitt, Shane, you look hot as you are._ Bullshit.

Ryan continues, “Despite him breaking my _No Person Over The Age of Fif –_ oh, maybe it should be sixty – _No One Over The Age Of Sixty Should Have Abs_ rule. It’s strange _.”_

“Who over the age of sixty has abs?” Shane asks. Steven is tracing shapes on the table at this point.

Shane does a bit of sunglasses prop comedy, always a delight. It’s rooted in a malicious place. Ryan doesn’t appreciate it as much as Shane would like, probably because he can sense the change in tone here. Steven takes the opportunity to break the spiral, explaining to the audio-listeners what the hell they’re doing.

“Thanks, Steven,” Ryan says.

Shane raises his eyebrows – he wants to say _Oh, thanks to Steven? Like you didn’t take my Pitt interjection and run with it for five minutes?_ Instead, he just agrees and moves on. Lauren always edits this stuff anyway. These episodes would be hours long if it weren’t for Steven’s always classy segues.

“Anyway – so, Netflix accounts… when it comes to Netflix accounts!” Shane laughs, ready to give his answer. He’s itching to get to Ryan’s response. Oh, it should be _good._

“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Yeah.” Ryan fumbles with his pen on the desk.

Shane glances in the direction of the camera focused on him – which, hilariously, just happens to be situated over Ryan’s shoulder. “This Hector… sounds like a… a real piece of work, I gotta be honest. He broke up with you… at a family gathering, out of the blue.”

Steven nods and hums like the wise man he is. Ryan models his posture, though his eyebrows are drawn together, clearly putting some pieces together. _Good,_ Shane thinks.

He continues, “Sounds like, and I don’t use this phrase lightly, a scuzzy dude.”

Shane looks at Ryan, waiting for a response. Three distinct facial expressions skim across his face, which is fascinating. Shane watches them go – first, an understandable laugh at the word _scuzzy,_ a moment of confusion, and then some… anger? Is that anger he spies?

Shane places his phone down on the desk, “Uh, I would say – ride this thing out – “

“Wha – wait,” Ryan says, placing his hand palm-down on the table.

“What?” It’s sort of snappy. Shane offers a smile that he can just _feel_ isn’t genuine. He presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows in that _I’ll wait_ way.

Ryan shifts in his seat, getting into his I’m-Challenging-You posture, “Wh – _why_ , though? _Why_ is he – is he a scuzzy dude _because_ of the breaking up or the fashion in which he did it?”

Shane looks to his phone, one hand resting on his mic stand. _Someone’s defensive._ Instead of giving a direct stance, because he can’t, he holds up the email again, “Let’s see. _‘Completely out of the blue in a car park’_ …” He looks at Ryan, “… _’Outside of a family reunion.’_ That’s not the time. That’s not the time, and that’s not the place.”

Ryan and Steven hum, synchronized. Steven is looking at his own phone, reading over the email and using his silence for the anticipation of his turn. Ryan seems to have forgotten it’s Shane’s turn.

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t faulting for the _actual_ act of breaking up, no matter – “

“No,” Shane rubs his eye. Oh, Jesus.

“ – ‘cause, like, people can break up with someone if they want to,” Ryan says, his talking speed increasing as if he worries Shane will cut him off. Shane doesn’t, fumbling with his mic.

“Sure,” Shane offers, glancing up at him.

“Like, you know – you don’t even need a reason! You could just be like, _‘eh, I don’t want to anymore, I don’t wanna do this anymore’_ ,” Ryan chuckles at that, because it’s funny to hear out loud. It was pretty ridiculous. What a ridiculous way to end a six-month relationship – _I don’t want to anymore._

Shane nods, looking back down to the email as if he’s scanning for more information. He just doesn’t want to look at Ryan. “Maybe Hector was going through some stuff, we obviously don’t have all the details, here. Um.”

Ryan clears his throat again, “But I agree. There’s a time and a place for it.” When Shane glances up, Ryan’s staring at him. “And, uh, this is neither of those.”

Shane feels like he needs to move on, now. Ryan’s clearly caught on. “But the other thing is, like, people are intimately aware of their Netflix profiles – he knows what he’s doing, he _knows_ that he left it on the table for you – and maybe it’s a bit of a consolation – “

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it does!” Steven offers.

“He definitely does,” Ryan says, somewhat grimly.

They seem to be on the same page, there. A good connection. As soon as Steven says, “Here is my advice… and it’s the opposite of Shane’s…,” Ryan and Shane are fighting on the same side again. At least, Shane thinks so. Steven saying _they don’t deserve your attention_ is valid, sure, but free Netflix!

Shane will walk back on some of his claims, slightly, “Probably healthier… if you’re trying to move on and forget about Hector… to not think about him every time you want to watch prestige television…” But what are the steps to take if you _can’t_ forget about them? If it isn’t a Netflix account, if you have to sit across a table from them every day, every week? “… um, so, yeah. That’s a valid point.”

And then Ryan completely flip-flops on Shane and says, “What was I gonna say here? Oh, yeah. I totally agree with Steven here – “

Shane is messing with the beard he’s grown – a _depression beard,_ the kids call it these days – when Ryan says _I, too, went through a break up around that same amount of time_ because he’s completely surprised that Ryan would bring up their situation on this podcast out of nowhere. He hides a smile behind his hand, ready for whatever alias Ryan is going to create for him. But instead, he’s talking about someone else – Shane finds that even funnier, struggling to contain his rueful noises. He manages, taking a long sip of water.

“… Uh, I think you should just get your own account,” Ryan says, finally, “It’s not chill to have the memory – at least, for me, it wasn’t. Anytime you see the name it just kinda, like, stings ya. I’m a big proponent of just – getting a clean break.”

“I get it,” Shane offers. Maybe just to remind Ryan that he’s in the room, that he’s aware. “I’ll concede, I didn’t give the best advice on this one. But – look, if you really like Netflix!...”

They wrap it up, move into the next question. Shane sort of zones out until he hears someone mention Alton Brown, waking back up and being present with a rage that only Alton deserves to be on the receiving end on.

It’s the end of the workday, anyway. Shane asks if Lauren needs help packing things up – simply because he doesn’t want to ride the elevator down with Steven and Ryan. It’s all so juvenile.

He’s probably going to dream about this. Ryan’s going to manifest as some giant sea monster in the parking lot of their office. He’s going to say _do you think we could go back to normal again_ for a second time. And Shane’s going to say _yeah, of course_ for a second time. And he’s going to pull Shane through the concrete.

Lauren lets him help repack the tripods, probably because he seems desperate to do something. He takes his sweet time, though he does speed up as soon as it’s clear that Lauren has somewhere to be. He mutters an apology and she waves him off with a smile, thanking him for his help.

When he steps out of the podcast room into the main office, he frowns when he finds Ryan still packing. He considers backing up into the podcast room and hiding, but he also just wants to go home for the weekend and dive into his bed and sleep for days.

Shane pretends to check his phone on the way over to his desk, internally cursing himself for being so stupid. It’s been a month. They’ve been semi-regular coworkers for an entire month, and yet he still feels like normality is unobtainable.

“Got any plans for the weekend?” Ryan asks, focusing on whatever he’s doing.

Shane almost hisses. That used to be code for _let’s spend every waking hour together this weekend_ but now it’s just conversation. It’s small talk between coworkers. No follow-through necessary.

“Nope,” he says, practically sweeping his arm over his desk and dragging all of his shit into his bag. “Same old. You?”

“The same,” Ryan says. Shane glances over to see what’s taken him so long. He’s just slowly, _slowly_ winding a computer cord around his hand. Okay…

Shane stands up straight, lifting a hand to wave. Ryan isn’t looking at him. He lets his hand drop and starts toward the door. The romantic, stupid part of his brain thinks that maybe Ryan is on his heels. But he pushes the door open alone, walks down the hallway alone, rides the elevator down alone. Just because he’s miserable doesn’t mean that Ryan is, he begins to realize. That’s alright. That’s the first step to moving on, really – getting past denial.

The ideal proceedings would be to order a pizza and watch movies until he passes out – rinse and repeat until Monday. But he’s so _tired._ Maybe that could be a Saturday activity – Friday can be hibernation, preparing for what’s ahead. _Yeah,_ Shane thinks as he climbs the stairs, fishing his keys from his bag, _good plan._

“This is self-care, right?” Shane hears himself mutter, dragging out a pair of pajama pants he forgot he had.

He bought them a while ago for comfort – it seemed like a good idea at the time, but pajama pants aren’t practical. They’re a luxury. Most days, Shane kicks his shoes and chinos off on the way to the bedroom and passes out in his underwear like a real person. Not today. He’s putting pajama pants on before he passes out this time at – he checks the time – six o’clock at night. He’s practically living like a king, excluding his deep misery with the way his life is going. Otherwise? King status.

It takes no time at all to fall into unconsciousness when he’s wrapped up in his blankets, AC on full blast, wearing pajama pants. It’s ideal.

It takes some time to get to the dream he’s been anticipating. Ryan isn’t a sea monster that swims in concrete, though, he’s himself. They’re standing in the office parking lot – because they always are, in these nightmares, always in the worst place – and Ryan’s not saying anything. Just staring at him. Shane can’t move, because he never can, waiting for whatever the plot twist is. Maybe Ryan’s hands will turn to giant knives, this time, and slice his head off or something. Hm.

At some point, Shane probably needs to get an analyst for this sort of thing.

The tension is coming to a head in his dream – Ryan looks like he’s about to say something, Shane braces for whatever is about to happen – when his phone starts screaming from the nightstand.

Shane cracks his eyes open, tossing an arm to the side. He couldn’t have slept _that_ long, though the sun has clearly gone down and he’s missed something so important that he’s getting a call from… Ryan. Very good. That’s great.

He places the phone on the side of his face, not exactly prepared to sit up yet. His voice is muffled from sleep when he says, “Yeah?”

_“Where the fuck are you?”_

Oh, great. “Mm…” Shane groans as he rolls over, a finger pressed to the back of the phone to keep it in place. “M’in bed.”

 _“Bed? It’s, like, eight.”_ Shane has nothing to say. He waits for Ryan to continue. There’s a sigh. _“I’ve been knocking on your door for thirty minutes.”_

“Oh, shit,” Shane manages, immediately turning over and falling out of bed. His knee hits the hard ground, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Fuck – sorry. Uh.”

_“Are… are you okay?”_

_No!_ “Yeah, I’m just – I fell. I’m comin’, just hold on.” Shane scrambles to his feet, pressing a hand to his knee for a moment before wobbling toward the door. “What’s – what’s happening?”

Ryan hangs up before Shane even gets the words out. Shane nods, _that makes sense,_ before wrapping his hand around the handle.

Shane’ll never get used to seeing Ryan at his door, particularly not _now._ He’s still wearing the clothes he wore to work.

“Sorry,” Ryan says before he pushes past Shane and into the apartment. “Sorry, we’ve gotta talk about this at some point.”

“Hello,” Shane mutters, watching him go. He closes the door slowly, trying to blink the sleep from his head. “Okay, let’s talk.”

“I mean, what the hell was that _question_ , man? Are you joking?” Ryan is standing in the middle of the living room, arms held out to the sides.

“What question?” Shane asks, fully knowing what question Ryan’s referring to.

“Podcast question. Parker Pummel-horse or whatever.” Ryan’s face is almost red, “At this point, it seems like you’re just trying to start a fight.”

“I thought it was a good question, actually. Do you want something to drink?” Shane sticks his hands in his soft, soft pajama pockets. “You can sit, if you want.”

“Of all the questions – there are hundreds, Shane, about fuckin’ high school drama and loud neighbors. You couldn’t choose one of those?” Ryan’s voice is high-pitched in that angry way. Shane sighs.

“I guess I didn’t think,” Shane murmurs.

“You’re right, you didn’t think.”

“Alright,” Shane’s not awake enough for this. He steps into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“No, I want an apology.” He crosses his arms, that cartoonish type of stance. “Please, if that’s okay.”

“You couldn’t have texted? I’m not feeling good.” It isn’t a complete lie. Ryan being angry at him is making him somewhat nauseous, on top of the already present upset-stomach feeling of loneliness. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Shane represses the urge to throw his hands up. Just kidding. He really makes a meal of it – turning around as he does it. “Ryan. I did what you asked of me. I’m _sorry_ I chose that question, I’m _sorry_ we had a bit of an odd tension thing about it. Alright? It got out of hand.”

“It got out of hand from the start.”

Alright. Shane can’t hold this in. He punches the coffee button before holding a hand out in an accusatory full-hand point, “Out of hand? You talked about Brad Pitt’s abs for, like, a million hours!”

“Oh, that’s fucking dramatic!” Ryan says, eyes glowing as if to say _finally, I won._ Shane almost feels bad for getting him started. He knows Ryan loves a good fight. Especially when he has a good chance of winning.

Shane doesn’t really care. He’s gathered a good bit of energy regarding this opportunity over the past few months. He never knew where he was going to release it, or if he even would. Maybe he’d just hold all the potential energy in his chest until he had some sort of cardiac disaster.

“More dramatic than you coming over here and waking me up to yell at me?” Shane manages, feeling like some sort of god. He grabs a mug from the little hanging shelf he bought a while ago – probably in that weird post-breakup phase where he was buying shit on the internet just because he could.

“Yes. Much more dramatic,” Ryan has his hands on his hips now.

“ _Ohhhh,_ ” Shane says like Nicolas Cage did in a movie once, angrily punching the buttons until the machine starts to whir, “You and your _I agree with Steven and never talk about the issue again!_ ”

Ryan holds his superhero stance, “We’re talking about it now!”

Shane shakes his head, “I don’t want to anymore. So.”

It’s a standoff. Ryan seems to be entertaining Shane’s request of talking about it by being silent entirely, giving Shane ample time to brew and prepare his coffee. He isn’t sure if they’re going to be fighting more – the fight they had was brief, less than five minutes probably – but Shane will be energized for it.

He takes a long sip of coffee, waiting for Ryan’s eventual explosion. His shoulders are so tense they’re nearly up by his ears. It’s going to blow eventually, Shane figures. He just has to wait. Wait for whatever he deserves.

Instead of a detonation, Ryan sighs. He shakes his head, seeming heavy as his shoulders drop, “You said it would be okay to go back to normal, Shane. I wouldn’t have fuckin’…”

Shane doesn’t know what that means, really. He takes another sip of his coffee just to keep his head awake. He probably has to reply at some point, right? Ryan probably means _you said it would be okay to go back to normal… I wouldn’t have broken up with you if I knew it was going to be such a fucking hassle._

“You were basically asking permission to break up with me, I couldn’t say _no._ ” Shane runs a hand through his hair. “Plus, if I did say no, what would that look like? You didn’t wanna be with me, so why would I make you stick around?”

Ryan falls onto the couch, hands oddly placed on his legs. “It’s not that.”

“It’s kinda that.”

“I do want to be with you, it just… I wanted to stop while it was good, you know?” Ryan didn’t seem to mean for that to be a question. He knows it didn’t make sense.

“That makes no sense,” Shane says. He braces his elbows against the counter, nudging his mug out of the way. “I’m not… I’ll get over it eventually, I promise. I just need time. I’ll stop trying to work you up about it, you don’t need to try and – ”

“I’m not – it isn’t a bit. I didn’t _wanna_ fuck it up, I just figured it was gonna end at some point.”

“Everything ends at some point.” Shane realizes how wise he sounds, but doesn’t make too big of a deal about it. “That’s the deal you make when you… fuckin’ get together, you know?”

“I know,” Ryan says, taking a moment to _actually_ realize that fact. “I guess I was being pretty stupid.”

Shane doesn’t wanna say _no,_ so he says, “So was I.”

It seems like the end of things. Some mutual nostalgic regret that they’ll both carry for the rest of their lives, sharing glances of momentary sorrow over their laptop screens for a few months before they stop glancing altogether. It’s fine. Shane hooks his finger in the handle of his mug to pull it closer to him, the ceramic scraping quietly against the countertop. He plans to take a sip, just something to busy himself, when Ryan stands. He perks up.

“So, tomorrow at eight?” His voice is lower, Shane would hesitate to say _uncertain._

Shane blinks. “What, we fight to the death?”

“No, I pick you up and we go somewhere.” Ryan tries to put his hands in his pockets, misses, and places them back on his hips. After a moment of that, he drops them again. “Um. Saturday night… stuff.”

“Oh,” Shane says, straightening his posture as if his posture has anything to do with his hearing. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?” Ryan’s anger has melted into some mellow sort of nervousness. “Like, you’re not busy?”

“No, no, uh… no, that’s… so, eight?” Shane pulls his coffee even closer toward his person. He doesn’t need it anymore, his brain is wide awake. That was fast. And unexpected. He wraps his palm around the cup, “Together, we’re gonna go on a – “

“A date, yeah. Ideally.” Ryan’s eye contact is intense in that _what the hell is he going to do_ way. Shane’s afraid for a moment that this is a farce, but there’s something genuine about the earnest wildness to his eyes.

“Oh, so we’re just going back into this.” Shane’s fingerprints are low-key-high-key burning on the side of the hot mug so he slowly removes his hand. Is this still a dream? He wishes he could check the time. This entire event couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes. Right? What is time? “Just jumpin’ back in. No holds barred.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I – we’re gonna… let’s just… we’re gonna start over and do it right this time.”

Ever the competitive sport, relationships. Ryan seems to want to win this, this time. Shane fully intends on accepting that.

“Do you wanna – do you wanna stay, or?” Awkward. This is awkward. They both know it.

Ryan shakes his head, “Probably not.”

“Alright,” Shane bites the inside of his cheek. “And, when you leave… are we going to talk about this at all or am I gonna get a text that says _‘here’_ tomorrow at eight and that’ll be all I have to work with?”

“Is that what you want?” It’s like they’re in an Old West gun duel, both trying to convince the other not to shoot them. “I mean, I thought you were going to sleep, so.”

“I drank coffee,” Shane points at the mug, like proof, “So.”

“Oh, well. Then. Yeah. We’ll text and stuff.”

Shane leans on his elbows again, “Is this just how it’s gonna be?”

“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks, so quick and suspect that it makes him laugh. “S-sorry, I just.”

“Yeah, no, it’s funny.” Shane can’t laugh but he wears a smile. He can’t help it. “The weirdness. Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know, I was… I was mad, and then I wasn’t.” He shrugs, “And the… I hope the weirdness goes away. I wanna… I messed up here, I’d like to start over.”

Shane nods once. It feels like a business deal. “Alright. So. Tomorrow at eight.”

“Tomorrow at eight.”

Ryan walks stiffly out of the apartment. It takes fifteen seconds and an aborted charming wave, and then he’s gone.

Shane doesn’t realize how weird that was, truly, until a few hours later.

* * *

One

Shane doesn’t know what he expected.

When he steps down onto the concrete outside of his apartment complex, sees Ryan’s car idling there in a no-parking zone, he gets that weird bubbly feeling in his chest. It’s almost normal, had it not been for the odd encounter last night. As he approaches the car, he sees Ryan looking down in his lap.

When he opens the door, Ryan jumps and almost lets go of the… weird binder he’s holding in his lap.

“Hey,” Ryan stutters out, running a hand through his hair. He looks over Shane’s outfit. “Is that a new shirt?”

“Yeah,” Shane slides into the passenger seat, folding his legs to accommodate the small space. He buckles before pointing to the binder. “What’s goin’ on there, then?”

“Oh, right,” Ryan says, like he forgot he was reading it a second ago. “I got it figured out.”

“Hm,” Shane replies, eyeing it. Seems like some Ryan bullshit.

Ryan senses his concern and flips it open again, holding it out. Shane stares at it. “I’ve come up with the solution to the weird… um, awkward phase of starting over, so I charted it out – we’ll work our way back up over the next ten dates.”

Shane’s face is blank.

Ryan takes that as a sign to continue, “Like, today, we’re gonna go to the movies and watch some romantic comedy and get dinner after. And we can’t hold hands yet, but we can do some entry-level flirting, if you want.” Ryan points at the chart on the first page of what seems to be a fifteen-page report on their new dating life. He outlines the next box down with his finger, “And then, next weekend, we’ll stay in and watch that show you’ve been wanting to see. Hand holding, of course, is allowed at that point.”

Shane is trying to take in everything. It must have taken Ryan hours to put this together. He doesn’t dare turn the page, afraid of whatever bullshit he’ll find. He tries to come up with something to say. His idiot alarm is going off in his head, blaring red lights and sirens, but he feels himself smile.

“Oh, Ryan,” he says quietly.

Ryan’s eyes flicker between his datasheet and Shane, tapping the page with his hand twice, “It’s not super detailed, it just kind of lays out the basics of everything. To pace us and stuff.”

“You… Wow, just. I’m amazed,” Shane says, nearly breathless.

“Yeah? I-It’s nothing much,” Ryan mutters, clearly flattered. “It only took five hours.”

“No, I mean. Wow, Ryan. You have truly…” Shane closes the binder, “You’ve managed to climb to the top rung of the moron ladder.”

“Yeah – wait,” Ryan seems surprised, indignant. “I – you were the one who was worrying about awkwardness! I gave you the answer!”

“You broke up with me and you asked me out again,” Shane tosses the creepy chartbook into the backseat, mind swimming. “It’s gonna be awkward. That’s how it goes. I’ll hold your hand if I want.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he grumbles, putting the car into drive. “I’m sticking to the timeline I set, so. Non-consensual hand-holding.”

“You don’t deserve my hand anyway,” Shane says, looking forward as they pull out of the lot. “What are we watching, anyway?”

“ _Lovebirds,_ ” Ryan says.

“Huh,” Shane says lamely. “Does your Dating for Dummies itinerary say who gets to choose the soundtrack for the journey?”

Ryan nods his head toward the aux cord, “Go for it.”

“Awesome.”

Fifteen minutes of ABBA, five minutes of ticket-related squabble, and ten minutes of movie trailers later, they were watching a movie together for the first time in a month. Shane isn’t a huge fan of the film, but he’s a sucker for Kumail so it can be bearable. He spends the majority of the film bothering Ryan. It’s one of his favorite pastimes, really, and he hasn’t been able to do it for several months without feeling sad about it.

Ryan’s box for today included the phrases _no hand-holding_ and _no touching of any kind that could be seen or identified as ‘intimate,’_ so that’s Shane’s first and only stop. Any moment of loud action or important plot point is accompanied by Shane crossing the threshold between seats and doing any number of annoying touch-related things. Touching the back of Ryan’s hand, taking Ryan’s fingers between his two palms, brushing his knuckles against the side of his face, tugging at his shirt collar. Just truly being a nuisance. Ryan makes quiet noises of distaste but does little else.

“You…” says Ryan, holding the door for Shane as they exit, “… have made a mockery of this.”

“You made a mockery of it as soon as you created a laminated title page for your date schedule fetish thing,” Shane flashes a grin and a bow as he steps into the hallway, moving out of the way of the other patrons who were slow to stand.

Ryan shushes him, eyeing the people passing. No one is paying them any mind. They’re trying to go home. “I disagree. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

It takes a moment for Shane to think about that. It was borne from a sweet place, just… exponentially magnified into something laminated and calculated to precision. Not calculated enough to project Shane’s innate need to contradict the rules, but calculated nonetheless.

“I do appreciate it, just not in the way you wanted probably.” Shane waits until Ryan lets the door go for the cleaning guys, ever the gentleman, before he starts down the hallway. “It’s sweet. I’m not gonna give you shit about the actual result you got, it’s pretty cute that you spent so much time on it.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Ryan looks up at Shane as they turn into the lobby.

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna heed your middle school date testaments.” Shane jogs forward to grab the exit door for Ryan.

“You son of a bitch.”

Ryan chooses a restaurant they’ve been to once before. Shane is surprised – it wasn’t their first date location, but more of a third date type of deal. Maybe Ryan is truly trying to start over. What a concept.

Shane audibly groans when he rounds the car and sees that Ryan has the binder under his arm. “Ryan, don’t bring that in there.”

“I have to. We have to debrief.”

“D- _debrief!_ ” Shane is convinced that this is just a long, long dream. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did you hit your head?”

“As a child. You know this. Let’s go.” Ryan shrugs away the faux-concerned hand that Shane places on his shoulder. He doesn’t entertain the poke that Shane gives him in the side, keeping his face serious until they’re settled at a table in the corner.

Shane keeps all of his quips in the side of his cheek for a good majority of the night. He doesn’t mention how he feels silly, how stupid the binder is, how weird it is that they’re even doing this. And he _definitely_ doesn’t mention how terrified he feels – it’s high risk, this. It’s exciting and dumb and it makes him incredibly happy, but it could fail. Again. And that’ll be debilitating.

No quip about Ryan’s datasheet could distract him from that.

“Alright,” Ryan says, pushing his empty plate to the side to make room for his chart nonsense. He unfolds the binder and pulls out a pen from his pocket. Shane snorts. “Time to reflect.”

Shane hums, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “Can’t wait to figure out what that means.”

“I’ve made a questionnaire – “

“You made a questionnaire.”

“ – that goes over the success rate of the date, how compatible you think we are based on tonight…” Ryan puts an _x_ beside something, “… and a place for comments.”

Shane blows a breath out through his mouth, “Wow, this is surreal.”

“What about it?” Thinly-veiled defensiveness.

“Just… I’ve never looked at you and thought, _I’m so gonna log this later,_ you know?” Shane smiles and Ryan throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Hey, it’s cute.”

“Think of it what you will,” Ryan begins to fill out his part of the weird date pop quiz. “But it’s in the name of science.”

“No, it isn’t,” Shane mutters.

A few moments pass. Shane attempts to listen in to the other conversations he can hear around the restaurant, something he always does when silence settles, but he can’t. His eyes are transfixed on the page Ryan is writing on. His brain forms words without his consent – materializes worries and fears and stressors that he hadn’t been thinking of all night. Everything’s winding down – Ryan’s taking him home after this, and then… what? What then? What if this isn’t what Ryan wanted? What if he changes his mind? What if, what if, what if?

Shane presses his lips together, watching as Ryan circles answers for his weird post-date questionnaire. “Hey, Ryan?”

“Yeah,” Ryan’s tongue is peeking out from his lips, concentrating.

“Um, I don’t want to sound like I’m ungrateful,” he begins, tapping his hands on the table. “But… this isn’t just some weird experiment for you, right?”

Ryan lets his hand fall lax against the table, pen nearly slipping from his fingers. “What?”

“I mean.” Shane scans over the scene in front of him. “Just. I’m just.”

Ryan clicks the pen and sets it down. “Shane, I’m not doing a bit, here.”

“Yeah, I know… I know that.” He hesitates. “I should. I mean, I should read your whole creepy binder efforts as genuine…“

“It’s not creepy, Shane.”

Shane gives him a look. “…But I guess there’s… I’m worried – and I know it isn’t logical – that you’re doing this whole spreadsheet-questionnaire-science thing just to prove to yourself that you wanna do this. With me.”

Ryan doesn’t move, his posture unreadable. “You don’t think I want to be with you?”

Shane shrugs a shoulder. Before he can reply, Ryan clicks his pen again and is scribbling something out on the page. Shane scoffs, “Are you taking points off of my performance because I’m not sure?”

“No, just hold on.” Ryan writes something before flipping the page and repeating the scribble-note process. He turns the binder around and slides it across the table, handing Shane the pen. “Your turn.”

Shane looks down at the page in front of him. At the top of the page, the numbers are listed horizontally across the page. Above, Ryan scribbled out the question _On a scale of one to ten, how compatible do you feel?_ and replaced it with the question _On a scale of one to ten, how certain are you that [Ryan Steven Bergara] wants to be with you?_

Shane circles the two with little to no thought. Ryan frowns.

“I’ll pay,” Shane offers as he fills the rest of the form out, smiling to himself at how ridiculous this entire situation is. “I had a great time annoying you, make no mistake. I’m just too in my head about this, probably.”

“No, I… I understand,” Ryan says, resting his elbows on the table. “I _do_ want to be with you.”

“Thanks for saying that.” Shane writes _good Saturday festivities 10/10_ on the blank lines at the bottom reserved for ‘comments’.

* * *

Two

Shane swings the door open. He feels his face stretch into a smile he doesn’t allow, letting himself believe that Ryan started it.

Ryan had to push the second date back from Saturday to Sunday following a forgotten doctor’s appointment. Shane texted him to say it was fine – and suddenly it was Sunday and Ryan was here and he felt much better about his life.

“Welcome,” Shane says, cringing. “How was the drive?”

“Everyone died,” Ryan says, groaning as he lugs the bag of food up onto the counter. “My turn to pay, so I got miscellaneous Italian foods.”

“Awesome!” He plunges his hands into the giant bag, beginning the long process of spreading everything out on the kitchen counter. “What’s in the rules for us today, then?”

“So glad you asked.” Ryan already has the page open, pointing to the next block. “So. Hand holding is allowed, now, so that’s good news.”

“Fantastic,” Shane says. He wonders if he should bring up the face that he’s actually touched Ryan’s dick before and the fact that he’s being limited to hand-holding right now is pretty hilarious. He won’t.

“And we’re watching Taskmaster, which you wanted. I believe.” Ryan waggles his eyebrows as if it’s suggestive in any way.

Shane pauses before lifting the paper bag and folding it in half, “Oh, that was the end of the rules? I thought there’d be more.”

“Well,” Ryan leans closer to the binder before squinting, “I also said _no conversations about future prospects_ but I figured that wouldn’t be a problem.”

“… Future prospects?” Shane tucks the bag into a cabinet before staring at all the stuff Ryan brought. It seems as though he went to a restaurant, asked to see the menu, closed his eyes, and pointed blindly at random items. “What, like… work? We can’t talk about work? Are we pretending that we don’t know each other, or?”

“No, I think it’s like… the future of _us_ , you know? Like no marriage plans.”

“Fuck,” Shane says, reaching into his pocket as if he now has to dispose of the imaginary wedding ring.

“Ha-ha.” Ryan rolls his eyes, “You’re not gonna listen anyway, so.”

“You’re right. Marry me?” Shane flutters his eyelashes and Ryan scrubs a hand over his face. “Sorry. Continue.”

“Are we starting from the first season or?” Ryan runs a hand through his hair. He isn’t wearing gel in it today. Shane wonders if he could get away with touching it before the night is over.

“First off, it’s _series_ in the UK,” Shane holds up a finger. He loves making Ryan frustrated. He missed this. He missed Ryan’s little smiles that peek through the façade. “And I’m starting with series seven, because I want James Acaster to hold me.”

“Uh?” Ryan says, clearly not understanding any of that sentence but feeling dissed anyway, “Okay, well. You get the food, I’ll set shit up. Sound good?”

“Aye-aye.”

The entire time Shane is making their plates, he’s worrying again. He’s worrying about what happens when they get to the couch. At the movie theater last weekend, there was an armrest between them that helped keep the pace. But it’s a couch. Shane wonders if he could scramble to get to sit first and Ryan could sit as near or as far as he’d like. But Ryan’s already sitting in the center of the couch, fucking around with the remote, and Shane’s stressing about the most stupid things. The binder is taunting him from the counter.

Shane balances plates in his hands, slowly shuffling toward the couch. Instead of making a blind guess, he just stands. He waits for Ryan to look at him, which he does. Waits for a cue.

“What’s up?” Ryan asks, scanning him.

“Where do I sit?” Shane realizes how meek he sounds, but it’s too late.

Ryan stares at him. “What do you mean?” He glances around, trying to identify any obstacles around him, before he realizes. “Oh. _OH!_ Oh, right, uh, just.” He leans back into the couch cushions, extending an arm out beside him. “Here, I guess. Right?”

“Right, okay,” Shane nods, pleased with how close they’ll be. It’s been a hot second since they’ve sat int hat overlapping sort of way. Even for Watcher Weekly, they’d been leaving quite a bit of space between them on the couch. A couple comments had noticed. Whatever. He leans down to set their plates on the table.

“Seas – I mean, series seven, coming right up.” The screen goes black for a moment before the buffering symbol appears. “I didn’t come across this _legally_ so it might be a bit wonky.”

“I don’t mind,” Shane says. He doesn’t. He settles into Ryan’s side. The world feels right again. “Doesn’t matter how you got it, just matters that we’re watchin’ it.”

“You just wanna see that guy,” Ryan grumbles, his arm wrapped around Shane’s waist as he adjusts his plate in his lap. “What’s his name?”

“James. Acaster.” Shane points him out on the screen just as he’s being introduced. Ryan makes a noise in the back of his throat. “What?”

“Why do you like him so much?”

“He’s my Pitt, alright?” Shane pokes at an unidentified piece of bread.

Ryan rolls his eyes, picking up his fork, “Pitt’s got abs. What does this guy have?”

“My heart.” Shane shies away from Ryan’s slap on the shoulder.

They watch about half of the episodes before Ryan is sinking into the couch cushions, eyes struggling to stay open. Shane asks him several times if he needs a coffee or something, but Ryan just shakes his head. Shane’s tempted to just wait until he’s fully unconscious to tell him to get the fuck up, but he can’t bring himself to do that. Instead, he stands to put the dishes up.

“Where ya going?” Ryan murmurs, sounding soft and sleepy. Shane bites the inside of his cheek. Ryan’s definitely not making this easy. “What’s happenin’?”

“Do you need me to drive you home or are you staying over?” Shane piles the plates in the sink, not feeling up to actually doing anything about them, peering into the living room. Ryan is wobbling to stand. Shane’s almost disappointed. 

“What – but we’re not done?” Ryan gestures to the television, to where Shane has paused it. “I thought there was more. Right?”

“There is, but we can finish it some other time,” Shane offers, shaking his head. “I forgot Italian food makes you sleepy.”

“So did I.” He yawns out a laugh, “Man. I’m exhausted.”

“So,” Shane crosses his arms over his chest, “What’s the plan, then? Stayin’ or goin’?”

Ryan considers this, “Well, I can’t stay.”

Shane blinks. He considers letting it go, saying _alright, get your stuff and I’ll drive you home_ , holding Ryan’s hand on the way over and walking him to his door. That’s what Ryan wants, probably. To keep to the schedule.

“What if… off the record,” Shane says, casting a careful glance to the binder, “Away from the ears of the Dummy Dating Data…”

“I’m nervous,” Ryan says, a joke that falls flat.

Shane doesn’t allow himself to consider his words too carefully, “What if I want you to stay?”

Ryan seems to not understand that, “What? But we can’t.”

“Ryan,” Shane says, his exhaustion folding over him like a wave. “We can do whatever we want. We’re adults. This isn’t our first time doing this.”

“Yeah, but.” He seems to think that’s enough of a reason.

“If you don’t _want_ to, that’s fine. I’m just saying.” Shane really hopes Ryan is tired enough to not be stubborn on this. He misses sleeping next to Ryan more than anything. He’s already done with this whole concept of delayed gratification in this relationship, it doesn’t seem to do much other than frustrate him. He wants gratification, instantly ideally. “I’m ready to jump back in. I wanna go back to things as they were, like nothing happened. You’re too tired to drive, I don’t _want_ to drive, let’s go to bed and cuddle and set your binder on fire in the morning.”

Ryan considers this. “I…”

“I still don’t really understand the concept of datasheets, I don’t get why you’re trying to turn this into a slow burn situation when I will gladly take my pants off any time you ask,” Shane is just speaking rapid-fire at this point, making a face at himself for that last thing. “So. Please stay. Sleep in my bed or I’ll… uh, be upset.”

“Pants can come off on the sixth date,” Ryan says.

Shane blinks. “That’s a month from now.”

“Yeah.” Ryan’s eyes are getting heavier by the second. “Um. I drove here, I could just…”

Shane shakes his head, just barely, “Do you really not want to stay?”

Ryan gnaws on his lip, “I do, it’s just.” He’s swaying on his feet, clearly about to drop. “We gotta get this right. If we don’t, I’m not going to forgive myself.”

Okay, Shane can understand that. He doesn’t think anything could go wrong now that they’re together, but if he has to go through another bout of loneliness… he understands Ryan’s hesitance.

“Alright, you don’t have to burn the binder. But stay. Please.” Shane puts his hands together in that _pleeeeease_ way. Ryan can’t resist, his shoulders rounding out. “Now get in the bed.”

“Then you have to take the couch,” Ryan says, still grasping tight to this weird emotional abstinence deal despite the several opportunities Shane has given him.

“Nope. You can use my charger and you can drive us to work in the morning,” Shane flips the kitchen light off and crosses the floor. He takes Ryan’s hand and pulls him toward his room. “C’mon, sleepyhead.”

“We didn’t fill out the… thing,” Ryan says, stumbling after him. “We have to – “

“I’d say tonight was successful. You agree. There, done.” Shane watches as Ryan jumps onto the bed. He can’t help but smile. “Where’s your phone? I’ll plug it in.”

“Sorry,” Ryan mutters into the blanket, reaching blindly into his back pocket and holding it up. His arm position is awkward but Shane takes it anyway, fumbling with the charger. “I forgot I’m sleep prone.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Shane climbs into bed, nudging Ryan’s side. “Get under the blankets, Bergoogoo.”

“Ugh.”

“Please,” Shane sees his opportunity and takes it, ruffling Ryan’s hair. It’s heaven. “I don’t want you to be grumpy at me in the morning. Get comfy.”

Ryan takes his time getting into prime sleep position, though he settles too far for Shane’s taste. Shane takes the initiative, turning the lamp off and shuffling closer to pull Ryan into his side. It’s been a month and some change since he was able to do this. Ryan makes a noise but doesn’t shy away. Shane takes that as a victory. A victory of a second date.

* * *

Three

“Cheek kisses allowed,” Shane murmurs, holding the door open for Ryan. Ryan ducks inside, thanking him under his breath. “ _Cheek kisses allowed –_ was there ever a time that I kissed you on the cheek, before?”

Ryan grabs the second door to hold open, glad for the balance of chivalry offered by most American malls, “I don’t think so. Maybe that did us in.” Shane bows before he steps into the building, nearly coughing at the wave of perfume that crashes over him. Ryan pats him on the back. “I did my research on average timeline of affection over the first ten dates of a relationship.”

“I still feel like there are some factors you’re not taking into account. Like the fact that we’re grown men who have done this whole thing before and not high school normies from a Disney Channel Original movie,” Shane slows to a stop in front of the directory maps. “What exactly are we doing here again?”

“Clothes shopping,” Ryan turns around, scanning over the various shops within close distance. “I need new clothes, I grew out of mine.”

Shane closes his eyes, bewildered. “I’m sorry, you… you what? _Grew out of them_? You don’t look any taller to me.”

“No, not in height.”

Shane seems confused. Then horrified. Then confused again. He scans over Ryan, trying to identify whatever the fuck that means. “What, you mean…” He stares at Ryan’s arms. They do look bigger. How did he miss that? Holy shit. “Holy shit. When did _that_ happen?”

“I think I overdid it, the past few weeks. Since… you know, how I deal with… uhhh, pain.” Ryan squints at the map, a reaction to his own words more than anything. “So now I have to deal with the consequences.”

“Our ways of coping with a breakup are very, very different.” Shane slips a hand into his pocket, not able to break his eyes away from Ryan’s arms. While Shane was binge-buying kitchen appliances and drowning in food, Ryan was at the gym. Shane’s almost comforted by the fact that they both had a rough time. He reaches a tentative arm out and wraps his fingers around Ryan’s bicep, squeezing. “Jesus. Hell of a consequence. You’ve got Bucky Barnes arms, babe.”

“Hey,” Ryan laughs, wrenching his arm away. “Pet names aren’t until the fifth date.” He glances around at the crowds moving past. He’s always so worried one of the viewer – ahem, _watchers_ will see them. “And don’t objectify me.”

“I’m gonna objectify you _so_ hard. I _will_ be accompanying you into any dressing room of your choice.” Shane taps his hand on his leg, now more antsy than ever to see Ryan shirtless. “Not finding anything enticing? Nothin’ tickling your fashion tastebuds?”

“Ew. And no, not really.” Ryan rubs the back of his neck, face lit up by the fancy directory map. “I’m also not stylish. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“You are,” Shane takes Ryan’s hand and starts off into the warzone of the mall, ducking between teenage posses and pregnant women walking to induce labor. “We’ll find you something, don’t worry.” They pass a Dave & Busters. Ryan struggles to keep his eyes away. “Focus, focus.”

“Maybe shopping won’t take long and we can just…” Ryan keeps his eyes on the building until Shane pulls him around the corner.

“Holy _shit!_ ” Ryan bumps into Shane’s back, stumbling backward. Shane is stopped in his tracks, hand tightly grasping his.

“What? What?” Ryan peers around Shane, trying to see what’s going on. He can’t identify anything out of the ordinary. Crowds, stores, capitalism. Typical. “What’s happening?”

“They have a fuckin’… pop-up _UNIQLO_!” Shane looks down at Ryan, “What about that? They don’t have any actual stores here. Are you down for some ‘ _QLO_?”

Ryan shrugs, “I trust you.”

“Good.” And they’re off in the direction of the pop-up shop probably manifested there by whatever god had been watching their situation, probably thinking _well, fuck, let’s give them a break._

It’s crowded as hell. This is to be expected. Shane ushers Ryan to the side, hands on his shoulders.

“Okay, can I trust you to pick clothes out for yourself?” He scans over Ryan’s face as if they’re about to enter their last battle together.

“I mean, yes. I’m an adult.” Ryan says that confidently, but his eyes tell a different story.

Shane nods. “Here’s what I’m thinkin’ – we’ll make this into a game. Your weird binder fetish would like that, right? An organized game?”

“It’s not a fetish.”

“You go pick out some shirts, whatever you want. I’ll lurk by the dressing rooms and snag one for you.” Shane’s thumb drags up the side of Ryan’s shoulder, a comfort in this probably very overwhelming moment. Ryan’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates. The roar of the store is ominous. “We’ll meet there, you’re gonna try everything on, it’ll be great.”

Ryan nods once. “Okay.”

Shane holds his hand out, palm toward the floor. Ryan stares at it.

Shane says, “We’re breaking the huddle.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and places his hand on top. They break. It’s a very sweet moment. Shane watches Ryan wander into the crowd before heading off toward the back. It takes a lot of willpower not to get distracted by the sweaters he _really_ likes on the way. But this is for Ryan. He can’t let him down.

Shane’s surprised to find a lack of a line outside of the dressing rooms. He imagines the rest of the group in the store is like him, millennials wandering around and pretending to search until they see a room open up. Not today. Shane is on a mission.

He stands, leaning against the wall beside the doors, implying with body language to the general public that he’s a lost boyfriend waiting for his partner to _get over with it so they can leave._ He receives a few sympathy nods over the racks of clothes from other lost boyfriends.

Eventually, the door on the left opens and someone exits. Shane waits a second before lunging in, fortunate that everyone has been so kind to the room. No discarded clothes in sight. Very nice.

Shane takes a seat against the left barrier. He sticks his foot out enough for his boot to be seen under the door – Ryan could recognize the ghoul boot from a mile away. He just relaxes, waiting, looking up at the white-tiled ceiling and listening to the _Sophie_ 2015 remixes over the shop speakers.

Eventually, he sees the tip of another ghoul boot slide under the door. A warning. He smiles, leaning over to open the door. Ryan steps inside and closes the door as though he’s been running for miles.

“You made it!” Shane offers, louder than he probably should be speaking but the noise outside is getting amplified by the second. “What do ya got?”

“I have no idea, I blacked out when I was out there.” Ryan looks down at the hangers he’s folded over his arm. “This may have been better if you had picked things out and I snagged the room.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Shane says, retaking his place in the chair in the corner of the admittedly roomy dressing room.

Ryan stares at him. “Aren’t you gonna go?”

“Nope.”

“But I’m changing.” Ryan gestures with his free hand to their location.

Shane scoffs, “I’ve had my hand in your – “

“Shane.” Ryan’s face is bright red.

“What, do you want me to close my eyes or something?” Shane shakes his head, “You don’t have to get _naked_ , idiot. Take your shirt off. The faster you get through this, the faster we’re skee-ballin’ at the D&B.”

Ryan seems convinced with little to no pushback. He’s pulling his shirt off before Shane can even blink. Shane considers making a joke, but he’d like this sort of thing to happen again, so he just stays silent. He’s almost inclined to whistle, but that wouldn’t be appropriate. They don’t want anyone to think they’re doing other things in here.

Shane is tempted to play loud montage music while Ryan changes, try and convince him to do some of the classic head shakes and head nods. He doesn’t, though. He just watches in weird silence, giving Ryan compliments that make his face go bright red, catching the shirts that Ryan tosses at him.

“Last one,” Ryan says, frowning at himself in the mirror.

Shane sputters, “Why are you looking at yourself like that?”

“It’s weird, look.” He turns to face Shane, holding his arms out. The sleeves are wide, hanging like wings. “I look like a priest.”

“No, you just gotta…” Shane stands, “Give me your arms.”

Ryan does, lips pressed into a line. Shane folds the sleeves in, rolling them up with a skill he didn’t know he possessed. He hopes Ryan finds this impressive. He does, personally. He feels like a fashion designer fixing an unanticipated problem in the fashion line.

Shane turns Ryan around by the shoulders. “Look. See. Sorta… uh, modern, but it fits.”

Ryan nods to himself in the mirror. “How’d you do that?”

“I’m just great.” Shane shrugs. His brain is short-circuiting. “You should know that by now.”

Ryan turns to say something, probably along the lines of _oh, soooo humble,_ but Shane is tugging Ryan forward by the sleeves and kissing him. Not on the cheek. Because he doesn’t want to.

Ryan doesn’t shove him away until they’re already parting, pretending to wipe his mouth. He starts to unroll his sleeves, grumbling under his breath.

“Ready for some D&B?” Shane asks, sort of breathless.

Ryan nods mutely, working on the buttons of his shirt. “Can’t believe you get so much joy out of destroying my plans.”

“I’ve always enjoyed destroying your plans,” Shane gathers all of Ryan’s new purchases. “I’m assuming that you’re buying all these.”

Ryan places the weird priest shirt on top, “I guess.”

“Sounds good. Put your shirt on, crazy. Dave’s callin’ my name.”

* * *

Four

“I bought shorts for this,” Shane says, mimicking Ryan’s stretch routine. He grunts as he lunges, something he hasn’t done on purpose in years. “Why did I buy shorts for this?”

“Because I asked you to,” Ryan grins. He’s clearly in his element. That frustrates Shane to no end. “Besides, I haven’t seen you in athletic wear save for those weird Test Friends episodes, and it’s been years.”

“Yeah, because I know my boundaries.” Shane struggles to stand. Ryan gives him a look. “It’s my goal to make you happy, and if embarrassing and possibly injuring myself on a basketball court will bring you joy, I’m gonna fucking do that.”

Ryan can’t stop smiling, shiny teeth on display. “What a saint.”

“Hand me the fucking ball.” Shane holds a hand out. Ryan passes it. Shane barely keeps himself from flinching. “Let’s fucking do this.”

“Jesus. Alright.”

Shane’s strength is his height. Several times during gameplay, Shane gets a hold of the ball and holds it above his head. Just to get a rise out of Ryan – literally and figuratively. Ryan jumps and bats at it and it’s hilarious to behold. Everything else of Shane’s is a weakness. He loses to Ryan 10 – 92, but he can’t bring himself to be upset about it. Especially not when Ryan’s doing his stupid victory dance.

“People are staring,” Shane says, panting.

“Let them stare!”

* * *

Four and a Half

Shane stands from his desk, stretching his arms over his head. He groans in that _everyone, look at me_ way. Everyone does.

“I’m hungry,” he says. It’s a declaration to the entire office, who remove one side of their headphones and wait for the rest of his sentence. “I’m gonna go to Chipotle and go wild.”

Silence. Half of the officemates put their headphones on.

Shane shifts, sort of surprised. It’s implied that he’s asking them to come with. “Anyone…? Wanna go with me?”

Steven hums, “I would, but I packed my lunch.”

“Cool, great,” Shane looks back to the rest of the room that have re-immersed themselves in their work. “Fine. So, I’m alone here, then.”

He looks at Ryan expectantly. Ryan blinks, hands frozen in their headphone-holding position, “Oh, me?”

“Yes. Do you wanna go get Chipotle? My treat?” He waggles his eyebrows. Ryan seems to be staring at him, not quite understanding. “… Hello?”

“Oh, uh. I guess?” Ryan looks around for a good moment before looking back at him, “Why?”

Shane tilts his head. This wasn’t how he thought this was going to go – he thought Ryan would say _yes_ and they’d be gone. But there’s a weird breach in communication here he feels like they need to cross.

They’re in a room full of coworkers. No one knows they were together before, much less that they’re together now. That was a very important rule, early on. One of two rules: don’t let anyone know until we’re certain this will work, and don’t let it interfere with work. So how in the world is Shane supposed to say _we’re dating, we should go on a date, that’s how that works_?

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “It doesn’t have to be number five. Maybe… uh, four-point-five, or something.”

Ryan blinks again, trying to conjure up something in his empty brain. His head is still probably occupied by the file on his monitor, not by the man standing in front of him wanting to sink into the floor. Similar to many of his epiphanies, it takes quite a while to develop. His eyes go wide, his shoulders taut as he scrambles to get his headphones off.

“Oh! Yeah. Yes. Sure. Lemme – “ Ryan presses Ctrl+S about fifty times in quick succession before grabbing his phone. He turns to the rest of the office, “Your loss, suckers. Back in forty-five.”

He looks to Shane, eyes reading _did I do good?_ Shane rolls his eyes, barely suppressing the want to grab his hand, and starts toward the door. Ryan’s on his heels.

Shane presses the elevator button with his knuckle, crossing his arms over his chest as Ryan comes to settle beside him.

“I didn’t plan for this,” Ryan mutters.

Shane can’t contain a scoff, “Ryan, please.”

“What? I mean – what if we have to start over, you know? I spent so much time making that timeline, just for you to screw me with a four-point-five.” Ryan is bouncing up and down on his toes. Shane braces a palm on his shoulder to ground him. “What if this is the metaphorical finger that pushes the dominos over and we’re left picking up the scattered… uh, dotty pieces?”

Shane steps into the elevator as the doors open, tugging Ryan in by the hand. He presses the bottom button. “Ryan, have you been chewing the NeuroGum again?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, busying himself with counting the floor tiles.

Shane feels himself smile. “Look at me.” Ryan does. “We’re not going to have to start over. See your datasheet nonsense as a jumping off point – we can fly on our own, now. Don’t you agree?”

There’s a pause. There’s a quiet click for every floor they pass as they descend back to the lobby. “Do you still not think I want to be with you?”

It takes a moment to descramble Ryan’s wording. To be honest, he’s still unsure. Still nervous. But getting rid of the binder might help. He’d like them to avoid schedules and planning from now on. He wants Ryan to act _now_ and _carelessly_.

“I’m getting there,” Shane says.

“Then we keep it.” Ryan’s the first one off the elevator, this time, and Shane is helplessly following. Tables have turned, or whatever. “I lost your trust and I’m gaining it back via precautionary measures that just happen to include spreadsheets and, uh… what’s the word?”

“Emotional abstinence,” Shane says, somewhat lamely.

“Emotional abstinence! Yes.”

“I don’t _want_ you to be precautionary, though,” Shane is rummaging for his keys with one hand, gesturing with the other. “That’s the thing. I’d like to just… _be_.”

“We can’t, really. Not yet.” Ryan stops at the passenger door, waiting for Shane to click the key fob. “Just a bit longer. Until you forgive me.”

“I forgive you! There!” The car chirps.

“Liar,” Ryan tugs the car door open. “Let’s get burritos.”

“Emotional abstinence burritos,” Shane mumbles, collapsing into his seat.

Ryan looks over at him and smiles. “Sounds like a band you’d listen to. Some indie psychedelic nonsense.”

“Keep talking and you’ll have to pay,” Shane pulls his seatbelt so hard it locks, clicking at him. Ryan laughs at his careful feeding of the belt back into the door and his slow pull back. Before he turns the key in the ignition, he glances in Ryan’s direction. “Did you really not know I was asking you to come with me, or are you really that vacant in your head today?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t, but… I was hoping.”

Shane enjoys that answer. The car wheezes to life.

* * *

Five

“I had a dream,” Shane says quietly, pushing the cart as Ryan skips ahead, pushing various confusing ingredients into the basket, “Where I was a junior basketball coach and this little boy got… like, _beat up_ on the court in the middle of the game.”

“Jesus,” Ryan mutters, shooting him a look.

“Yeah, right! And I ran out to try and heal his wounds or whatever and the parents in the stands were, like, mad at me? For holding up the game?” Shane shakes his head, looking down at the list on his phone, “Didn’t you need brown sugar?”

“Oh, right! Thanks.” Ryan runs back to toss some into the basket. “Was that the end of the dream?”

“Not really. Uh, I got my thumb ripped off somehow, also. And everyone got _really_ mad that we were cloggin’ the gameplay, so they made us go off to the sidelines.” Shane deletes ingredients as they go. He’s not sure why he didn’t just make the list a bullet point type deal, but whatever. “And I remember we ordered alcoholic drinks.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was a elementary school gymnasium, and suddenly I had a margarita in my hand.”

Ryan snorts, “A margarita?”

“What’s wrong with a margarita?” Shane scowls, selecting another line of text to eradicate. “The hell?”

“I’m just not one for fruity stuff, I guess,” he shrugs his shoulders. He moves to look over at Shane’s list. “What else did we need?”

“I think we just need icing, if you even want that. It said it’s optional.”

“Fuck it, why not.” Ryan scans the aisle, “Do they even have that?”

“Everywhere has icing. Look, it’s right – right here,” Shane points to the shelf directly above Ryan’s head. “You just couldn’t see it, because you’re a little baby man.”

Ryan makes an indignant noise, reaching up to grab some. Shane considers coming up behind him and lifting up under his arms like a child, but he decides against it.

“M’not a baby man. I’m five-ten.”

“No,” Shane says, plucking the bag Ryan chose out of his hands and tossing it into the basket. He pushes forward, Ryan beside him. “Would there be _any_ situation where you’d readily and happily admit to being a five-nine man? Would your pride ever allow it?”

“Five-nine-and-three-quarters, first of all,” Ryan holds up a finger like he’s a part of a debate team and he _knows_ he’s right, “And secondly, no.”

“Hm,” Shane considers that, rerouting into another aisle to head to the front so they can check out. “What if… how about this?”

Ryan hums, “Shoot.”

“What if… it’s the future, and you’re still as small as you are now,” Shane locates the shortest line with ease, “And there begins a worldwide sweep of all men pertaining to a specific height…”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, grabbing a pack of gum from the edge of the check-out aisle and tosses it into the basket.

“… and their only check is to ask men with inflated egos what their height is. No checking, either, they just _ask_.” Shane taps his hands against the handle of the cart, “And they’re killing all men who say they’re five-ten to six-foot.”

“Hm.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Shane isn’t sure why the fifth date’s activity is baking cookies. In his mind, that’s one of the earlier things they do. After this date, according to Ryan, they’re allowed to fuck again – so why cookies? That doesn’t make sense. That’s like getting offered a hug and getting punched in the face instead. But in a good way?

“Why exactly is this on the docket?” Shane says, a few minutes later, staring at the ingredients spread out on his kitchen counter. Ryan’s rolling up his shirt sleeves and Shane feels compelled to do the same. “Last time, you had me physically exert myself, and now we’re just… baking.”

“Well, I wanted to see what it would be like to grocery shop with you. And I read somewhere that most couples have squabbles when working together on one task, particularly in the kitchen, so. Yes. Baking.” Ryan smiles at him, looking handsome as hell with his stupid sweatpants and tight shirt. “Bit of a field test.”

“Fine, fine. What do I do?”

“Help me measure,” Ryan says, grabbing a measuring cup Shane didn’t even know he had. “I’ll mix it, you pour it. Simple.”

“Simple,” Shane repeats, taking the cup by its handle and staring down at it.

It only takes fifteen minutes for Shane to be completely doused in flour and oil, mostly useless while Ryan does everything. He doesn’t know how he got here. He tried to help, honestly. But sometimes you have to embarrass yourself for those you love – uh, those you’re in a weird dating situation with.

He washes his hands in the sink watching as Ryan pushes the tray into the oven, clapping the flour from his hands after the oven door is shut.

“Well,” Ryan says, turning back around. He can’t smother his laugh as he looks at Shane, miserable and ingredient-coated in his own kitchen. “Wow. How the hell did that happen?”

“I… uh, I was squeezing the vegetable oil when I opened it…” he mimes the explosion onto his shirt, “And then I put the flour bag on the counter too hard and created a mushroom cloud. And now I’m like this.”

“Wow.” Ryan shakes his head, “You… how did you make that pie, that one time? How the hell did you manage that by yourself?”

Shane shakes his head, “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“This is why you have to have _roommates_.” Ryan taps the side of his head, “They help you out with this sort of thing.”

Shane shrugs but doesn’t continue that train of thought. “Uh. I’m gonna go… uh, shower.”

“Alright. Just be out in ten minutes because that’s when they’re done.” Ryan jabs a finger into his chest, recoiling at the feeling of an oily, floured shirt.

Shane nods once. “Okay.”

He stands there for a long time. He considers making a ‘joke,’ like _you don’t wanna come with,_ or something funny like that. But he knows what Ryan would say. _Not on the fifth date, I’m not_ or _if I came with you, it would take more than ten minutes._

“I’m not coming with you,” Ryan says, smirking at him, brushing his hands on the front of his shirt.

Shane shakes his head, “W-whaaaat? I’d – I’d never ask such a thing. On the fifth date, no less!”

“I saw it in your eyes.” Ryan shoos him off with two hands, “Go, go. Time’s a-wastin’.”

Shane does. He leaves, peeling the shirt off of his body before he can even fully leave the room. Some part of him would feel weird about this, the rejection of a half-offer of intimacy after a long, long time without – he _would_ feel weird, if it weren’t for the distant whistle that Ryan throws after him. Shane turns on his heel, mouth agape. Ryan pretends he didn’t hear anything, looking around for the source of the noise.

“Bastard,” Shane mutters.

“Nine minutes, Shane.”

“On it.”

* * *

Five and a Half

_[How’s it going, lads? I hope this email finds you well. I’m gonna jump right into this. In the past, I have often struggled with expressing my feelings to those that I care about. This all changed when I met my current girlfriend. Although we’ve only been dating a short time, I can picture the rest of my life with her clear as day. With the current situation and the way things are going, I feel like every moment I’m not confessing my love is a moment wasted. However, we haven’t dating all that long and I’m scared of spooking my girlfriend by being too intense. I don’t have much experience in telling people my deeper feelings, and I wondered if you maybe had any words of advice for me on this topic. TLDR: Is it too soon to tell my girlfriend I love her, and how can I be chill about it? – Boogers (fondly named by Steven)]_

Shane yawns during the question, long and hard, waiting for Steven’s response. He keeps his eyes away from Ryan, trying to focus.

Once again, they’ve fallen into the relationship pit. Shane is considering sneaking into the email when no one is looking and deleting all of the emails that seem related to love or anything like that, just to avoid this weird pit in his stomach. He wonders what Ryan’s response will be. He wonders if Ryan will tell an anecdote about a past relationship that’ll make Shane’s blood boil just thinking about it – or if Ryan’ll say _I’ve never really loved anyone like that before_ and Shane will sink into the chair.

Steven says something along the lines of “… say what you feel.”

Ryan makes an _I disagree_ face. Shane doesn’t know what that means.

Steven continues, “I may have been someone in the past who said ‘I love you’ very quickly… and I have no regrets!”

“Which day?” Ryan’s wearing a shit-eating grin, pleased with the joke he’s pulling. “Day three? Four?”

“Um…” Steven says. He thinks for a long time. Ryan’s grin slowly fades. “Trying to think here. Maybe, like… day three, yeah.”

Shane feels his eyes go wide. He looks at Ryan, who has a full-body shudder, laughing so hard he shakes the table. He smiles but keeps his mouth shut. He’s loved Ryan since day three, probably. Day one. Day… zero.

“How old were you?” Shane asks eventually, messing with his mic. It’s his go-to distraction, these days.

“How quickly did they run away in the opposite direction?” Ryan’s still recovering, reaching for his water bottle. “Was it instantly, or?”

“And – and how old were you?” Shane feels like he needs some validation, right now. He picks up a pencil to mess with.

“Yeah, twenties.”

Shane makes a tiny noise. A _huh._ Ryan’s rattling off some sort of pop culture reference. Shane’s zoning out on the bottle in Ryan’s hand.

He almost said he loved Ryan, once. Stuff came up.

Steven holds up a finger, “Here’s the thing – if I’m gonna pull from the Shane Madej playbook – “

Shane’s attention is recaptured. Steven doesn’t know what he’s thinking, right? The playbook isn’t _fall in love with a coworker in a week or less,_ right? That would be crazy.

“ – oh, you might die tomorrow!”

Shane leans back in his chair, reacting in that whimsical way while simultaneously thinking _oh, thank God._

“What are you waiting for!” Steven holds his hands up. Ryan is looking at him like he grew a tail. “If you really keep thinking that way – just say it! Who cares if they don’t say it back! If they don’t say it back, fine.”

Shane’s attention is like a ping pong ball, bouncing between Steven’s words and Ryan’s reactions. He’s attempting to pick up clues where he isn’t even sure there are any.

Ryan takes in a long breath. Shane clenches his hands under the table. “I – I have some – “

“But what if this person is like – “ Shane thought he had a good thought to share, something that would indirectly validate himself, but he runs out of steam immediately. So much for stalling. He sighs, “I don’t know. Okay. Go ahead, Ryan.”

“I have some thoughts about this, but also I think we’re missing the critical piece of information here in terms of, like – we don’t know how long Boogers has been dating this person.” God, Steven. Of all times to use a name like that.

Shane manages words, somehow. “I don’t – I – I need more details. I need the ages of these people, I need… uh, uh, a timeline of this relationship…” He feels his eyes get close to Ryan as he sways in his chair, so he locks his gaze on the doorknob across the room. That was all he had to say, anyway.

“Short term, I would say, probably – let’s say probably less than two months,” Steven offers. Oh. Shane hadn’t expected to have been given an actual timeline. Damn. Now he has to say _more_ words.

“That _feels_ right, yeah.” Shane glances toward Ryan. Ryan’s eyes are boring holes into his face. He almost jumps at the sight.

Ryan’s hands are folded on the desk, mimicking Steven’s hand placement. “That feels… about right – okay, I’m gonna play a little game here because I’m curious. Because I already know Steven’s quick to jump the gun, here, but Shane – “

Shane feels his face get warm. Fuck.

“ – I’m gonna list out some times and you tell me ‘acceptable or not acceptable’ to say _I love you_ …”

His voice sounds lame in his own ears as he says, “… Okay.”

Steven leans back in his chair, knowing it’ll be a while. Shane’s already taken the stance that it’s generally unacceptable to profess love in the first few days – he wasn’t aware that this standard he placed on the world would be applicable to him. Fuck.

“One day,” Ryan says.

“No.” Shane attempts some inflection, there. He isn’t sure if it works.

“One week.” It almost seems like this is what Ryan was doing when he was putting together that binder, looking at times and strategically plotting when to do what, how to approach, where to go next. But this isn’t a game, really, it’s a challenge. Shane can see that competitive glint in his eyes.

Shane feels his pause draw long. “No.”

“Two weeks.”

“Absolutely not.” Committing to the character. Very good.

“Three weeks.” Ryan’s eyes are piercing. Shane isn’t sure what’s going on. Ryan could have just asked him _when do you think would be an acceptable time?_ But this is agonizing. He feels like he’s supposed to be learning something from this, but there’s nothing.

“No.” An imperceptible head shake accompanies that one. Just to have variety.

“A month.”

 _Yes, Ryan. Yes to all of these, if it’s you._ “No.”

Ryan laughs slightly, probably to the pause. There are a lot of pauses.

“Wow,” Steven says, just to break the weird energy they’ve created. He takes a sip of water.

“A month and a half.”

“Maybe. No.”

“Two months.”

“Gettin’ there.” Shane keeps looking between Ryan’s eyes, attempting to find an answer. An answer to whatever the hell this is. Ryan was the one to put that _don’t mix work with whatever we are_ rule into place, so maybe this isn’t about them. Maybe it was something different. Unrelated.

“It’s getting warmer, see, this is where it gets warmer for me as well.” Ryan seems… what is that, gleeful? Or the opposite?

“Yeah.” This conversation is tiring Shane out. He can see himself in the monitor across the room. If he were standing, he’d probably be hunched over. He looks a few minutes from dropping.

“Two and a half months.”

“… Maybe. No.” Ryan’s face is unreadable, so he goes for it. “No.”

“Three months?”

Shane starts nodding before he gets the words out, “That feels like a good cut off, yeah. F-for – “

“That feels good for me too.” Ryan’s smiling, for some reason. Shane’s a pit of nothing, right now.

“That’s – that’s when we’re starting to – before that, you got – you’re sitting at the side of the pool with your toes in it. Um. When you’re like, _maybe I’ll go for a swim._ ” Shane and Ryan were together for more than three months. Much more. So what the fuck! What is going on!

Ryan’s got this face on. This smile like he wants to say _what the fuck are you talking about, idiot?_ Shane realizes his mistake.

He holds his pencil up like an objection, “And this isn’t even to say – that sounds – that’s not in reference to, like, _oh, I want to be in this relationship._ It’s just – it’s a complicated feeling that I think you should, um, give appropriate simmering time to.” He’s realizing he’s speaking directly to Ryan, now, so he glances to Steven. “Because there was definitely – I remember being younger and in relationships and saying it without really _feeling_ – like, I felt like _oh, that’s what you’re supposed to say._ I don’t know.”

Ryan laughs at that – correction. Ryan giggles at that.

“Um,” Shane takes a breath, “And as I’ve gotten older, it feels like more of a … y’know. A real, tangible thing.”

Ryan says, “An exercise in meditation – “

Steven almost jumps out of his chair, grasping his phone, “Hold up! Hold up!”

“ – Meditate… on the idea,” Ryan squints at where Steven is sitting, confused by the outburst.

“Hold up! Hold up! Sorry, I – forgive me for this. I just went on Twitter for no reason, just out of, like, habit.“ He holds his phone up for the other two to see. Shane is glad for the distraction, laughing a bit.

“Yeah?” Shane says, quietly, through the aftershocks of a laugh.

“Shane Madej tweeted seventeen minutes ago, we’ve been filming this podcast for forty-five minutes!”

Shane can’t help it. He folds, placing his forehead on the table, his shoulders shaking. It’s a good way to burn energy, laughing. “Yeah! I tweeted in the middle of a podcast!” He sits up again, taking Steven’s phone to point at his words, “Look, man. Someone tweeted me and asked me if I like _Cheers_ or _Frasier_ better and I said _Cheers_!”

“Well, how could you leave a person hanging like that for, you know, another ten-fifteen minutes?” Ryan scrubs a hand over his forehead. Shane’s hoping his frustration is a bit, or something.

“I’m sorry – look, man, I’m a pro-tweeter.”

They’re swept in a different direction, regarding Twitter. Ryan is quick to return to the topic. It stresses Shane out, the lack of laughter, now. Shane might laugh a bit too hard at Ryan’s weird steak-as-relationships analogy – that you have to cook the steak before you eat it, like one waits to confess love. Ryan and Steven go off on a steak-cooking and Grill Master related tangent. Shane just watches. He wants to go _further,_ away from this topic and into Steakland.

“Hey, Bergmeister – how do you like your steak done?” Shane shifts in his chair, “I – I, I’m just curious.”

Ryan gives him a blank look. “I like it medium rare.”

“Me too. Sometimes even closer to the back half of that, let me tell ya.” He laughs. Ryan doesn’t.

Are they still talking about steak? Are they talking about when to say _I love you_? Shane isn’t sure. He knows he’s probably leading Ryan into something dangerous here, yet again mixing relationships with work and fucking it up.

Over six months of the dating-fucking-whatever dance they were doing. Not once did they say they loved each other. So what did that mean?

“What do you think about that?” Ryan’s looking at him again, “Do you think that there is no reason to rush because… they aren’t going to run away from you, there’s going to be time for you to say that where you can both be more comfortable…?”

“Yeeeah. Especially if it’s, like, a blossoming thing… then it’s moving organically to a point where it feels right.”

Moments pass. They talk. It’s a podcast.

Ryan says, “There’s no version or iteration of Shane Madej where he honestly has a thought in his brain that’s, _any moment where I’m not professing my love is a moment wasted._ ”

Shane shrugs, “I don’t know.” _I definitely am thinking it now._

They continue. Shane disses one of Ryan’s jokes in an act of mutiny for his soul being laid bare, however accidentally. They talk and talk and talk. And then they’re done talking and it’s time to re-enter society.

Lauren already has the tripods packed when they finish, this time, so Shane has no escape. Ryan frowns, clearly lost in his head, as he places the headphones down on the table and slips out of the room to pack his things.

Steven says, “That was a good one,” to no one in particular. Shane smiles and nods at him anyway.

Ryan drove him to work today. Shane’s already terrified of the trip. He’s hoping he’s overreacting – hoping that they’ll get in the car and Ryan’ll strike up a conversation and it’ll be great and he can sleep tonight.

Shane convinces himself that it’ll be great. He walks up to the desk, throwing a smile over to Ryan, who reciprocates. But it’s different. A tired smile. An _I’m thinking_ smile.

“You about ready?” Ryan asks.

“Uh-huh,” Shane bends down to grab his bag. “Are you?”

“Yep. Not much to pack, today.” He lugs his backpack on his shoulder, “I need to go by the bank before I drop you off.”

“Alright,” Shane says. He feels almost as if he’s being scolded, though he isn’t sure why. “Uh. Everything okay?”

“Yep, peachy.”

Those are words that people say when they’re not, in fact, peachy. Shane knows that. He’s lived on the earth for quite a few years, now.

He taps his hand on his leg as they ride down in the elevator. Ryan is to Shane’s right, Steven to his left.

“You guys got anything planned this weekend?” Steven asks, scrolling through Twitter.

“Not that I can think of. Same old, you know?” Ryan leans against the back of the elevator, closing his eyes. Shane frowns. He looks so tired. “Man. This week was pretty long, right?”

“Yep,” Shane says, just to be a part of things. “What about you, Stevey? Any plans?”

“I’ll have to see where the weekend takes me!” Steven says, flashing a grin. Ryan laughs pretty hard at that one – the weekend always takes him to matcha near-overdose and poker with the boys. Every weekend, without fail.

“Alright, man,” Shane says as they part, throwing a lukewarm wave after Steven. “See you Monday!”

“See ya,” Ryan nods. He grins at Shane, twirling his keys around his finger. “Ready to head out?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Shane’s sure he was overreacting, now. Ryan’s normal, just tired. Everything’s fine. They’re going to leave the parking lot without breaking up. They’re going to get in the car, go to the bank, go back to Shane’s – and tomorrow, they’ll have their sixth date. Everything is fine. Nothing is wrong. “Uh, who’s got soundtrack privileges?”

Ryan jabs his side with a finger, “You got it.”

“Sick.”

Shane gives Ryan a break from ABBA, instead playing the playlist he created for Ryan a few months ago when Ryan had said, in passing, _I think you and I have vastly different music tastes._ So, Shane made a Ryan playlist. It was rooted in a sweet place that Ryan doesn’t seem to acknowledge. Or doesn’t see?

The bank stop is faster than Shane anticipated, a quick visit to the pneumatic tube – _thunk_ – and then they were off again. Ryan gave him a leg pat along the journey, and then that was it. That was the extent of things. The extent of conversation at least.

Shane is almost relieved when they come to a stop at the back half of Shane’s apartment lot. He’s glad the weird tension is almost over with, ready for a brief goodnight kiss and a long walk up to his place to initiate hibernation until eight the next night when he’d see Ryan again for lucky date six. He forgets what Ryan has on the schedule. It’ll probably be good.

Shane glances over to say something, some “well, I’d better be going” sort of thing.

But the tension seems to elevate in the few seconds of searching that Shane partakes in, scanning over Ryan in the dark and trying to figure out why everything is so off right now. Ryan lets his hands fall from the steering wheel. Shane watches them rest on Ryan’s lap, confused.

“What’s up?” Shane asks, unbuckling his seatbelt. He lets it go, wincing as the buckle clatters against the door on its journey. “You’re pretty quiet tonight. Are you okay?”

“I…” Ryan turns to look at him, a fleeting look that takes a couple tries to get right. “Shane.”

“Yeah?” Shane allows a smile. That’s usually what he does – Ryan always says it’s contagious, or something. He’d love a smile. He tugs the cord from his phone, pushing it into his pocket. “What’s – you look grim.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Ryan says quietly, which knocks the smile right off of Shane’s face. That can’t be good. “I just. I think. Maybe… maybe we should have just left things alone.”

Shane blinks. “Left what alone?”

“This. Us.”

Hm.

Part of Shane wants to celebrate – he wants to say, _I fucking knew this was going to happen_ , as if that would be something to revel in. This was precisely what he thought would happen, though he isn’t sure if it’s something to blame on the binder for getting his hopes up, at himself for thinking it would work again, at Ryan for barging into his apartment nearly six weeks ago and fighting with him about the stupid podcast questions. It seems like it’s always the podcast questions that start this shit.

Another part is angry and wants to yell. At Ryan for leading him like this, at himself for being led. He wants to reach into the back seat and take the binder in his hands, ripping the covers apart and shredding the papers inside. But he can’t do that. Because he knows he shouldn’t be angry. He shouldn’t feel anything, ideally.

There’s a third part of him. Shane can’t identify exactly what’s going on there.

“Will you say something?” Ryan almost whispers.

Shane opens his mouth to say _well, it’s been fun_ or something. He can’t even manage that. He presses his lips together and shakes his head, silent confirmation, opening the door. He can’t bring himself to speak. There’s a disappointment sinking into his clothes and he wants nothing more than to run up to his apartment and put those cursed pajama pants on and sleep for days. That’s his go-to routine, when Ryan breaks up with him. It’s sad that he has a routine, that it’s happened this often.

Shane stands. He pats the top of the car twice before closing the door, pivoting and walking away. Because he can, this time. All those stupid dreams of a parking lot, of being stuck to one spot and having to watch everything crumble. He can do this _one_ thing. He’ll be able to look back on this and say, _hey, I did something right. I’m not using the Netflix account, so to speak._

He gets as far as the curb, a yard or so from the stairs, when the third part speaks up.

It can’t end like this. All of Ryan’s binder shenanigans were working toward one common goal, an attempt to see that they succeed. So _why_ walk away? Why throw that all away? He couldn’t say no the first time. Maybe he can this time.

He makes a wide U-turn, not stopping completely for fear of chickening out. Ryan’s still in the car, still idling in the lot, resting his head on the wheel. Shane wonders what he’s thinking. He hopes to find out. That’s the plan – Shane’s third part is an advocate for conversations.

When he opens the car door again, Ryan hits his leg against the steering wheel in surprise, hissing at the ache. Shane falls back into his seat, buckling back up and crossing his legs. Ryan looks at him, almost terrified in his expression.

“We’re going to talk about this,” Shane says, his voice not quite all there. “We put a lot of work into this, we’re not gonna do this again where you say _I’m done_ and I just go _okay._ We gotta… we gotta talk.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s go to yours,” Shane brushes his palm against his pants, smoothing out wrinkles he imagines are there, not breaking the eye contact that Ryan is holding. “I wanna get drunk and talk through this shit until we pass out.”

“Shane…” Ryan says. Shane isn’t sure what tone he’s holding, but it’s definitely not _mad._

“If, in the morning, you still feel this way, fine. I’ll let it go. I’ll move on, finally, and we’ll figure it out,” Shane reaches up to grab the door handle, “But I refuse to be alone tonight.”

“M-my…” Ryan wets his lips, his throat surprisingly dry. Shane feels the same, but he’s full of adrenaline. “My roommates are home.”

Shane shrugs, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ryan asks.

The first time around, Ryan was pretty certain that Shane and he wouldn’t spend much time at his place since there were so many distractions, so many people there to witness and judge and discuss. But Shane _wants_ that. He wants people to behold them. He’d love to be beheld.

“Okay,” Shane says again. He turns forward, snatching the aux cord again. “Go. Drive.”

“Jesus. Okay.” Ryan chokes out a laugh, holding his hands up before putting the car back into gear. “This is… this is something, Shane.”

“You’re right,” he looks out the window, watching his apartment grow distant. “But hey, you can’t say I’m letting your hard work go to waste.”

Ryan glances into the rearview mirror at the binder that sits there. He considers saying something but doesn’t. Not then, anyway. He just drives, as he’s supposed to. Shane plugs his phone in and continues playing the Ryan playlist, almost as if he’s pretending nothing happened. But he’s not – how could he?

For every stoplight they encounter, Ryan attempts to start the conversation early as if he wants to go ahead and resolve this before they get back to his place. He gnaws on his lip while driving, sometimes nodding his head to the beat of the miscellaneous Ryan-vibe music that thrums over the speakers, silent. Shane is fine with that. He’s still high off of the energy of taking the initiative. But they’ll slow to a stop every mile or so and Ryan will turn to him and say something like _Shane, look._ Or _I just._ But Shane cuts him off each time, “Ryan. Wait ‘til we get there. It’ll be better that way.”

Ryan accepts it, at least until the next light where he does it again. And again.

They pull up to Ryan’s apartment and the both of them just stare ahead. They’re thinking about what they’re supposed to say, about how they’re going to get out of the car, about how they’ll interact with Ryan’s roommates when they get up there.

“So,” Ryan says.

“Hm,” Shane replies.

They open and shut the car doors in unison. Shane thinks it’s a bit like a movie but he doesn’t say that, following Ryan up the stairs and to the door.

“What’s the plan?” Ryan asks, voice so quiet Shane isn’t sure he’s being spoken to.

“I’ll go in your room, you bring alcohol?” Shane says, “I’ll be stealth so the bros don’t see me.”

“I don’t want them to _not_ see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ryan pushes the door open. “I’m not trying to hide you.”

“Great,” Shane says, stepping inside. “I’ll say _hi_ , and then go stealth.”

“Do whatever you want. I’ll be there in a second.”

Shane almost puts his hand out again to break a huddle, but Ryan’s already gone from the main entrance and clanking around in the kitchen. He sighs and wanders toward Ryan’s room, a journey he vaguely remembers from the one weekend the bros were out for a game night and he and Ryan got to stay in.

He tosses a _‘sup_ to the guys on the couch, to which they reply with a head nod so smooth Shane gets a little jealous, before opening Ryan’s door and trying to identify a place to sit. He chooses the weird gaming chair Ryan has chosen for his desk, spinning around a few times for good measure.

He missed this room. It’s been months. He forgot how cozy it was in here. Ryan’s bedroom walls are all so bare like he just moved in, but somehow it still feels lived in. That’s Ryan’s vibe, Shane supposes. Cozy.

“Alright,” Ryan says, pushing the door open somehow despite his hands being full of miscellaneous booze. “I got one of everything.”

“One of everything,” Shane repeats, impressed. “Two of us.”

“Take your pick,” Ryan says, stumbling over to stand beside Shane as he lays out his haul. Shane spies the lonely gin bottle and picks it up. “Nice. Great. Okay.”

“Okay,” Shane can’t get the cap off fast enough.

Ryan grabs the near-empty whiskey bottle before kicking his shoes off and scrambling onto the bed to face Shane, a few feet away but not too distant, folding his legs into a basket.

“Uh, you first,” he says, gesturing to Shane. His hands are clumsy as he manages the bottle to his mouth.

Shane follows his lead, grimacing at the burn and his entire situation, before resting the bottle on his knee and shaking his head. “I mean, what the fuck, man?”

Ryan’s shoulders drop, “I don’t know, I – “

“Like, what happened to _we’ll get it right this time_ or whatever the fuck?” Shane sees Ryan’s transparent shame as a good sign, “Like, I _said._ I said, _hey, maybe don’t start this up again if you think you might change your mind again._ And you were all like – “ Shane takes a sip break. “ – _nooo, no, I’m sure this time, I’ll make a whole date system to make sure I don’t break up with you this time_. And I… I was almost sure that you weren’t fuckin’ around with me.”

“I’m not – I’m not _fuckin’ around with you_ , I… I’m not, I just think…” Ryan brings the bottle to his mouth like he wants to drink, looking up at the ceiling, but he lets it drop again to speak, “Like, maybe we’re just meant to be… platonic, or something. We’re… we stagnate, that’s what we do. We get to the good stuff, and we stick there and it’s ominous. Like, something bad’s about to happen.”

“Yeah. And then something bad does happen,” Shane agrees.

Ryan gives him a look followed by a big swig. “I know it’s shitty, I’m not trying to be so hot and cold, but I get this _feeling_ in my chest sometimes. Something even vaguely negative happens, and it’s... It’s… it’s sinking and cold and I don’t want to feel like that, certainly not when I’m thinking about you.”

“Okay,” Shane nods. That makes sense. He takes a shallow drink. “Okay. So, what happened this time?”

“Podcast,” Ryan says.

“Hm,” Shane replies.

The air buzzes around them, both waiting for something more. A question or an answer. Anything.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ryan decides instead.

“No, go back to the thing you were gonna say.” Shane gestures to the other end of the room with the bottle, as if the train of thought is over there. “What about the podcast?”

“Just the fuckin’… the stupid – it’s stupid. The thing about when to say you love someone.” Ryan cringes at his words. He attempts to drown the taste with whiskey, a ridiculous notion.

Shane hums. “Okay.”

Ryan takes a deep breath, “And… the… so, we were talking about that, and you said your threshold is, what, three months?”

“I believe I did, yes.”

“And we’ve been together how long? Not this time, but before.”

“Longer than three months.” Shane sees what’s happening.

“And you said, you _said_ that thing about taking that stuff seriously now that you’re older, so… what? The only logical explanation is that _we’re_ not serious, right? That we’re just fucking around?” Ryan mumbles the last words into the mouth of the bottle.

“I love you,” Shane says. He chases it with liquid courage, not that he needs much more, and shrugs. “I’m very serious and I love you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t say it _before_. You’re saying it now because I asked for it, basically, and that doesn’t count.”

“I mean it.” Shane stares at him. “And I tried to say it before, it just wasn’t a good time.”

“There’s a time and a place, whatever. But you _didn’t_. And I know _I didn’t,_ but I was waiting for you.” Ryan’s voice goes high at the end of his sentence. He clears his throat to bring it back down. “Because I’m so… like, terrified of losing you in a permanent way. That’s not… I can’t allow that.”

“I know,” Shane wipes the side of his mouth with the back of his hand, letting the gin bottle clatter on the desk behind him. “And I’m not going to let you do that.”

Ryan hums, looking down in his lap. “So why are you here?”

“Because I can’t think of a version of reality I wanna live in where I don’t get to kiss your stupid face,” Shane mutters. His head’s starting to swim a bit. He didn’t eat much today. “I’m telling you that I love you now. So take that for what it is.”

“I just don’t know,” Ryan says. He takes another deep breath, though it gets caught halfway through. “I don’t… I mean, what if you don’t…?” His eyebrows scrunch up. “What if we keep going, and we start saying we… _that_ … and it doesn’t work? What… what do I do with everything? All the feelings and memories and shit.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you constantly looking for the end to this,” Shane runs a hand through his hair. “You keep looking so far ahead, you’re missing everything.”

“Not on purpose,” he grumbles. “I just… it would be easier for everyone if we just… uh, didn’t.”

“You’ve got some faulty logic there, my friend, because now you’ve placed me in quite the predicament.” Shane leans forward. His hair flops into his eyes. He pushes it to the side. “You’re afraid of us not working out and placing you in the weird possession of all our memories, but you’re putting me in that position. Right?”

Ryan rubs his eyes with his hands. “I guess.”

“We’re great. We’re doing fine.” Shane wants to reach out and hold Ryan’s hand but he doesn’t. “The entire time we were talking about that stupid podcast question, I was thinking about you. How I fell in love with you – don’t look at me like that – before the three-month mark. Three days in, even. Maybe the first day.”

Ryan scoffs, “Shane.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you just _say_ that, then?”

“I mean, we didn’t tell anyone about us.” Shane leans back in the chair, hearing it creak. “You didn’t tell your roommates, I didn’t tell… uh, my parents, or something. We didn’t really label what we were and I… I guess, there were moments where I was afraid you were just working through something and I was just along for the ride.”

Ryan shakes his head almost violently. “I wasn’t working through something.”

“Me neither. But I remember, uh, one week you lent me your phone to show you how to do some really easy task – “

“Hey.”

“And I distinctly remember not seeing the Tinder app,” Shane scratches the inside of his wrist. “And the next week, it was just there. Your phone was blowing up on the desk next to you and you kept having to dismiss the notifications. You know how weird that is?”

Ryan frowns. “I wasn’t seeing anyone, I promise, it was just… the backup plan, or something. If it did crash down. I was… I guess I need to work on my priorities regarding organization for a relationship.”

“If you’re already creating back up plans for when the relationship ends…?” Shane tilts his head.

“No, no. I figured that out when we were taking that break. Planning for dates _good_ , planning for post-breakup dates _bad._ ” Ryan cringes. “Blegh. Sorry. I really wasn’t thinking, I was kinda hazy from the… bad vibes, or whatever.”

“I guess I maybe should have seen it coming, I don’t know. I think I…” Shane laughs at himself, a wheeze from deep in his chest, “I was like, _maybe he’s trying to make friends_ , or something dumb like that.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, “It wasn’t – I didn’t go on it, I just redownloaded – it doesn’t matter. I didn’t know you saw that, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.” It’s not, but whatever. “I guess it’s hard to work yourself up to tell someone how you feel when they’ve already sort of moved on.”

“I’m not – “

“And I do want to say this, just to get it off my chest,” Shane feels his voice wavering now, so he tries to mask it with a laugh because he’d rather do anything than drunk cry right now. “What is it with you and dumping me in parking lots? This is twice now. Like you’re pouring out an old drink or something, you just kinda… leave me there.”

Ryan has his head in his hands, voice muffled. “Man, I don’t know. I don’t… there’s no excuse for that, I just thought maybe… maybe if I _offered_ , you know, like… an out, or something. Maybe that would be easier, and we could just move on.”

“Right.”

“But it doesn’t work like that.”

“Right.”

A beat. Ryan sits up. “I do love you, though. I didn’t mean to dodge that earlier, but it happened.”

“S’fine.” Shane’s heart rate is accelerated to a somewhat concerning degree. He presses the back of his hand to his cheek. He’s probably flushed because of the alcohol. That’s what happens. “I love you too. So, that’s settled.”

“God,” Ryan seems paler than ever. Shane’s concerned. “I’m – I’m so sorry, Shane. I’m – I’m royally stupid.”

“I don’t think that’s a phrase, but we’re in agreement there.” Shane shoots a smile at Ryan when his head jerks up to glare. “I’m not too bright myself, here. I should have seen that you were floundering your way through your unconditional love for me, so.”

“I – I wasn’t _floundering._ ”

“Like a jellyfish in low tide,” Shane clicks his tongue, swaying in the chair. He isn’t sure if that made sense, but he’s not all here in his brain at the moment. “So, we’re fine, right?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. If you’ll still… if you’ll still have me.”

“Duh.” Shane holds a hand out. Ryan stares at it. “Bottle.”

“Oh! Oh.” Ryan hands it over. Shane places it next to his own, two near-empty bottles that somehow didn’t manage to fuck things up, before kicking his shoes off and clambering onto the bed to tackle Ryan. “F-fuck, Shane, Jesus.”

“I’m tired.” Shane slips his legs under Ryan’s blue comforter, waiting for Ryan to do the same. Shane tugs him into a tight hug. It’s awkward and warm and inelegant – but he’s edging near drunk and Ryan doesn’t make fun of him for it. “You’re like an emotional marathon.”

“M’sorry,” Ryan says, locking his hands behind Shane’s back. “I can’t be trusted.”

“You’re right, and yet.” Shane takes a deep breath, leaning back to look at Ryan. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

Ryan makes a face, “I love you too. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you love me.”

“Hm,” Shane lets his eyes close. He has no control over his consciousness right now. Looks like it’s time to pass out. God, he’s turned into a lightweight. He wants to look over at the bottle, see how much he drank since he was definitely not keeping track, but there’s no energy left. “I’ll do what I want.”

* * *

The Rest

“This doesn’t change anything,” Ryan says, arms crossed over his chest as he looks out at the small crowd of the office.

“It – it changes a few things,” Shane offers instead, holding a hand out, “But the things are manageable and easily adopted into our, uh… routine.”

“Right,” Ryan nods once. “What he said.”

So begins the steady introduction of their relationship into the public eye, the Monday after their weird, short, almost-fight in Ryan’s bedroom. They had no negative expectations going in – everyone’s chill. There wasn’t going to be some sort of _objection._ They wouldn’t expect that. This was just to say _hey, we’re doing this now._ Ryan was nervous about it, which shone through in his weird business way of speaking during the announcement.

They wrap up – Shane goes _great,_ claps his hands, and they go back to work – and move through the various levels of official steps. They do the whole HR thing though it isn’t too complicated. There’s no title gap between them, there’s a new promise between them of a future with no end, they can’t identify any opportunities of favoritism that could come about… they’re squeaky clean. And everyone’s support is immediate and without fanfare. Just as Shane had anticipated, just as he had dreamed.

Steven keeps grabbing their shoulders all day, though, from behind their chairs and saying, “Way to go, boys!” Like he’s a sports coach. It’s incredibly uplifting, actually. Shane can’t help but laugh every time it happens which probably keeps Steven going. Ryan gets pretty tired of it, mostly because he’s often trying to do something very carefully when Steven starts jostling him. Shane’s a fan of that as well. This is typical of him. If there’s a chance of irritation from Ryan, he’s all for it.

It takes a few days for the issue to be raised: are we telling the internet?

“I mean,” Shane says, carding his fingers through his hair, “That’s the thing. We should. But if I have to sit down and do one of those _We Have to Tell You Something_ videos, I’m quitting.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, “We’re not gonna do that.”

Steven cringes at the thought, tapping his fingers on the conference table. “It would be kind of funny, though.”

“Maybe,” Shane shrugs, “But I think it would be funnier if we just moved forward without saying anything. Just let ‘em figure it out.”

“I guess.” Ryan scrubs his face with a hand. “That would be easiest.”

Steven clears his throat, “Easy isn’t always right.”

Ryan and Shane turn their heads in unison. Eyes wide, confused. They both say, “What?”

“I’m an advocate for openness,” he says, hand on his chest. Shane stares at him. “It would be much easier to keep quiet, but we can’t! It’s a good opportunity to model a healthy… uh, introduction, right?”

Ryan and Shane blink.

“So, let’s go about our lives normally.” Steven shrugs, “It’s a new relationship – “

Ryan and Shane share a knowing look.

“ – so it’ll take a while for you two to warm up to PDA.”

Shane makes a noise in the back of his throat, “Hell of an assumption to make.”

“You guys aren’t super public with your feelings anyway,” he waves a hand, dismissing the thought. “So just… over the course of, say, ten videos that we film… we’ll introduce you guys as the happy couple!”

Shane hesitates to say this sounds familiar. He turns to look at Ryan, whose eyes are practically gleaming.

“Ten videos, you say?” Ryan can barely hide his smile.

Steven nods once, reluctantly, “Yes?”

Ryan’s out of his chair before Steven can even get the word out, running out of the room and almost tripping over his own feet. Steven opens his mouth to ask what the hell that was when Ryan comes crashing back into the room with his backpack in hand.

“I came prepared,” Ryan says, nearly manic in his tone when he slams his bag down on the table.

It takes Shane a moment to recognize the white blob he pulls out. He blinks. White… it’s a white binder. A familiar one.

“Ryan…” Shane says, a warning tone edge to his voice.

“It’s funny you say ten, Steven, because I’m quite fond of that number,” Ryan places the binder on the table, turning it to face Steven.

Shane braces his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his hands, “Not this again, Ryan, we _just_ got past the dumb data thing – “

“I’ve upcycled the Dating Binder to fit this exact purpose,” Ryan flips the cover open, revealing yet another laminated title page.

“Ooh,” Steven says, leaning forward. He likes laminated title pages.

“When did you even have the time to do this?” Shane peeks out through his fingers before letting his hands drop altogether. “We slept at my place, last night. I _saw_ you go to bed.”

“I woke up at four,” Ryan says this casually. “After you were asleep.”

“You’re a fucking mad man.” Shane is utterly appalled. Ryan seems to like irritating him too. They’re perfect for each other in this way.

“You took the initiative,” Steven flips through the pages, “I have to commend you on that.”

“He hates it, Ryan. Two against one,” Shane snaps his fingers, a small act of victory.

“I don’t hate it,” Steven holds a hand up like an annoyed mother and Shane sinks in his chair. “This does make a bit of sense – you’ve got our shooting schedule here, a pretty concise list of acceptable public acts.”

“ _Acceptable public acts._ I’m going to barf.” Shane is almost under the table at this point, his back against the seat of the chair. “Can we just wing this? I’m not gonna script my affection for you, idiot.”

“We’re not scripting anything,” Ryan says, leaning over a bit to see Shane’s head peeking out from under the table. “You know this. We’ve gone over this before, if you recall.”

“Oh, I _recall_.” Shane squints at him. He realizes he’s being dramatic, but it’s a Friday. He thought they were home free.

“It’ll be great,” Steven attempts to clap Shane on the shoulder but his shoulder is out of reach, so Steven settles for a head pat. Shane glares at him and struggles to sit normally. “I like the thought you put into this, Ryan.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Ryan sounds over the moon. Shane has to actively repress any positive emotion at the sound. “At least someone does.”

“I said I appreciated the effort!” He holds his hands up.

“Not the result,” Ryan raises his eyebrows at him. Shane goes quiet.

“So, it’s settled,” Steven flips the cover closed again, sliding it back to Ryan. “Good work, Ryan!”

Ryan takes the binder, gives a smug nod to Shane, and exits for a second time. Shane and Steven watch him go, wearing two vastly different expressions. It takes a moment for the trance to wear off. They glance at each other, shrug, and stand to go to their desks.

As they leave, they don’t say much to each other, seeming to choose to move on with their day. That’s valid. How else to treat a workday after a coworker has revealed a safety plan for an issue they weren’t sure was even going to be an issue in the first place?

Around lunchtime, Ryan begins muttering to himself like a mad man (on his second stick of NeuroGum, as per the opposite of Shane’s recommendation) and scribbling with an Expo marker on the laminated schedule he planned. The majority of the crew break for lunch, anything to get away from their desks for a while. When this happens, Ryan gets even louder. No amount of concerned _you okays?_ from Shane could bring him away from his spiral.

Steven leans over to Shane as Ryan finally places the binder on the side of his desk, standing to bring his instant noodles over to the microwave. He taps Shane’s shoulder and murmurs, “What… why exactly did he…?”

Shane holds up a hand, “Please… don’t ask me. I wouldn’t know.”

Steven nods once and turns back to his computer, pleased with that answer.

* * *

The Night After The Rest

Ryan stands in the entrance to Shane’s bathroom, waiting for Shane to look at him. He does, eventually, setting his phone on his stomach because he thinks something is wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, sitting up on the bed. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m trying to do a thing,” Ryan’s voice is hushed, holding a faux irritation that Shane picks up on easily – he’s fluent in Ryan’s tones at this point. He’d like to think so anyway.

“Ah, I see.” Shane turns, letting his legs hang over the side of the bed. He holds a hand out, a _go on_ gesture. “Proceed.”

“Okay. Ahem.” Ryan has something behind his back. “I would like to inform you that I have now…” He holds the item out. It’s a toothbrush. “Brushed my teeth with the Staying At Shane’s Apartment Ceremonial Toothbrush for the first time.”

Shane applauds, almost stumbling over himself as he stands, offering a few good-natured _woots_ at his own discretion. Ryan’s official expression fades and he laughs, waving his hand to get Shane to stop.

“That was sweet,” Shane says, falling back onto the bed. His body bounces up and down for a moment. He got a new mattress for the occasion. “I did think you got hurt or something.”

“If I get hurt, I’m telling you. Trust me.” Ryan crosses the room. Instead of walking around the bed, he crawls across Shane’s legs. Shane makes a few noises of distaste but allows it to happen due to Ryan’s wide grin. “That went well.”

“What, the toothbrush bit?”

“No, the whole conversation with Steven.” Ryan is overly violent with the way in which he tosses the blankets aside to climb under. “I think it went well.”

“Are you joking right now, or being serious?” Shane can’t tell. He pushes his phone onto the nightstand to give Ryan his full attention.

Ryan shrugs, turning on his side. He rests his head on his hand. “Nope, all seriousness here.”

“I mean, I don’t know what else you expected. I think this whole thing’s a little out of the blue for everyone, but it’s all good reactions so far.” Shane mirrors Ryan’s position. “Don’t know about your little stunt with the binder, though.”

“I thought it was funny! _And_ useful. That’s just efficiency.”

Shane blows out a long breath. “I know there are thousands of ways to go about this whole internet thing…”

“You hate it?”

“Noooo, I don’t hate it.” Shane pulls Ryan’s free hand. Ryan stares down at the action, confused. It takes a few seconds for him to get it, shuffling closer and into Shane’s side. He gets a comforting peck in response. “I just… you should know this by now, but I’m _incredibly_ impatient.”

“Yeah, I guess. But you said you didn’t wanna do a clickbait thing.” Ryan tries to pull his hand away but Shane holds tight. He chuckles.

“We don’t _have to._ We could just be us. No need to do another ten-day abstinence thing where I have to wait to hold your hand in the frame until fuckin’… the second episode of the next season of Weird Wonderful.” Shane plays with Ryan’s fingers, staring down at them while he does.

Ryan stares at him. The action feels silly due to their closeness. They both go cross-eyed. “I didn’t show _you_ the schedule. You were on the ground.”

“I… read it when you went down to your car to check for your wallet.” Shane shakes his head, “It was dumb. I knew I wasn’t going to be super upset with anything, I just wanted to know what your plan was.”

“I didn’t peg you for the curious type!” Ryan says, squeezing Shane’s hand.

He wrenches away, laughing. “I’m _not_ , I’m not, I just. I also wanted to check for typos or something. Since you did it at four in the morning.”

“Oh, sure. _Suuuure._ ” Ryan pokes his side.

Shane goes stiff as a board for a moment, afraid of being tickled. Luckily, Ryan doesn’t pick up on this. “What!”

“Were there any?” Ryan raises an eyebrow.

“N-no.” Shane rolls over to turn the lamp off. Ryan laughs so hard he shakes. “But whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryan scoots back over to his own side and Shane audibly whines. “Hold on, I have to plug my phone in. Chill.”

“Let it die,” Shane mutters. He gets a slap to the arm. He doesn’t mind.

They get back into their weird, post-repressed-nonsense sleeping cocoon of arms and blankets. They’ve gotten very efficient at it, something they had originally worried about. It’s second nature at this point. Ryan presses his cheek to Shane’s chest, head just under Shane’s chin. He seems to wait until Shane is nearly unconscious to mutter something, muffled against his shirt.

“Huh?” Shane practically slurs, tilting his head down though his eyes remain closed.

“Thanks for not letting me break up with you.”

Shane lets out a huff, an intended laugh with no steam to execute it. “S’okay, baby.”

Ryan laughs softly, a truly heavenly sound. “See? I wouldn’t have gotten to hear that.”

“More where that came from,” Shane lifts a hand to cover Ryan’s mouth. “Hush, now. Sleep time.”

Ryan pulls the hand away, holding it firm. “Fine. I love you.”

“I love you too, lil’ guy.”

Ryan seems to want to say something about _that_ pet name, but he doesn’t say it.

Shane can’t think of another time he fell asleep with a smile on his face. He’ll remember it this time.

**Author's Note:**

> i was going to write the first break up itself but i think i'd make myself cry so HAVE THIS. PLEASE HAVE THIS, I LOVE YOU.
> 
> unbeta'd. god, i hope i did this right. this is my first one shot of this length holy SHIT.


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